The Path Illumed
by Sabrina Clarke
Summary: Written before Order of the Phoenix The Ministry is in chaos- danger, death, & doomed romance all ensue with the advent of Voldemort. What will happen next to the unfortunate students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy? AngstDrama
1. The Night Prowler

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Disclaimer: Anything that you have read in the Harry Potter books that you have not read anywhere else does not belong to me. I'm borrowing them.

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A Night Prowler

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By Fiona-chan and Sabrina Clarke

"…It is the beginning, Wormtail…and soon someone's life will end. I, Lord Voldemort, guided by the power of Salazar Slytherin, have returned!" Veiled people surrounded Lord Voldemort in front of a dilapidated house, the Riddle House. The figures were enveloped in the greedy fingers of a dense fog. "There is, but one thing standing in my way," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt, "Harry Potter, that meddlesome fool!" 

"But not for long-" Lucius Malfoy snickered to Macnair. Voldemort whirled around livid, his robes billowing in the feeble wind. 

"Silence! Remember, Harry Potter has much luck in dealing with us." hissed Voldemort to the cowering Death Eater, "Fool," he muttered, "Perhaps, I will allow you to be reckoned with…" 

"Never again, my lord-"

"Nagini!" Voldemort hissed in Parseltounge, beckoning a huge serpent from the greasy shadows that entombed their meeting place. 

At his call, emerged an enormous snake that he patted fondly on the head. Malfoy stepped back in fear as the snake faced its ugly, triangular head in his direction. Its forked tongue flicked out and smelled the tangible dread that surrounded his master. Voldemort stared pointedly at the snake and then to Malfoy with vermilion eyes- that revealed no soul- only cultivated hatred. 

"But, Master, remember our plan? How can _they _can be trusted to finish what you have started?" protested Avery, stepping forward boldly. As those same eyes gave him a glare that dissolved any resolve he had, he shivered.Or was that a feeble wind? 

Voldemort laughed, that high-pitched mirthless laugh, "My followers, _I _will finish what I have begun." He raised his arms- his pallid face contrasting oddly with the dark sky. His hands were glowing; eerily illumed by the light of the sunset, hovering on the horizon in the distant west- like an open wound. The hooded figures surrounding him all raised their wands simultaneously and sent out a skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth, the Dark Mark; a symbol of death. The death of Harry Potter.

"But how can we be assured of their loyalty?" questioned Avery, nervously.

"They have been assigned and have performed dutifully- our hand darted out, unseen, and killed the enemy. So will end Harry Potter and all that oppose me!" he said, his red eyes narrowing into slits of delight, reflecting the glittering symbol shining overhead, "Oh, the delicious irony that one of those who Dumbledore trusted will bring him right into my hands!" 

Avery asked once again, "And the other…? -the one who did not perform as admirably?" 

Voldemort vaguely waved his hand dismissively, "He will be killed, of course."

Suddenly, his manner became less languid- he turned to Avery spitting venomously, "I tire of your curiosity Avery…" He wagged a finger in his direction, "Do not test the limits of Lord Voldemort's patience… _Crucio_!" So Voldemort treated all of his servants as an example of power. Power. It was an all-consuming avarice that claimed the souls of the weak - and he relished it. The abandoned graveyard echoed dismally with screams of Avery's torment. Once more Voldemort laughed. After a moments hesitant pause, he was joined in by the Death Eaters, surrounding him, staring at their helpless comrade contorting himself in pain. Laughing because Harry Potter was as good as dead and as soon as they got rid of him, they would rule the world. 

In their greediness and lust for power, they did not see the figure hiding in the shadows nor did the sleeping villagers of Little Hangleton hear the shrieks of Avery as the blood-red gash of the sun slowly healed into the black night sky. As the last remnants of light shifted to behind the horizon, with faint pops, the Death Eaters disapparated, leaving Avery convulsing- alone on the ground.

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However, someone did. In a small suburban house at number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging a boy awoke with a start, his head a chaotic mess of the Death Eater's laughing and Avery's tormented screams. He pressed his hand to his forehead trying to remember what happened, but the details were quickly trickling away. _What a strange dream, _he thought. He shook his head and looked at the clock- 12:01. He laughed with surprise; he'd been 15 for a whole minute. His gaze fell upon the mirror and he stared at his shadowed fat face, the moonlight reflecting oddly on his dirty-blonde hair. The boy's name was Dudley Dursley. It went without saying that he did not normally have dreams and was a little alarmed at the peculiarity of it. 

He whipped around. He thought he had seen more then just his face in that mirror. _Perhaps I was just imagining it_, he thought, scratching his head stupidly. He shook his head again. Peering anxiously into the darkness, two yellow eyes gleamed in the night. Dudley sighed with relief and closed his eyes, laying back and making the bed groan under his considerable weight, "It was probably just a raccoon or something," he mumbled to himself.

Next door, another person lay awake, shivering from the night's coldness through his threadbare blanket. His name was Harry Potter, and something was rustling the neatly trimmed shrubbery outside his window. The moonlight reflected oddly on the shiny surface of his Hogwarts trunk, packed and ready for September first. Harry slowly stretched out his arm, groping blindly for his glasses, trying to stay silent. The rustling grew louder and with a jolt of surprise he spied two amber eyes staring at him-

"MU-UM! MUUU-UUM! There's something outside my window!" and with a slamming of doors, Harry heard the dulled thudding of slippered feet as they rushed into Dudley's room. Harry jumped out of bed, pocketed his wand, and began to exit his room as well, but he paused. Someone or something was once more rustling the leaves. He froze as the rustling grew louder. 

"Hello, Harry, I haven't seen you for a while," exclaimed a strangely familiar voice outside his window. 

"Ms-Ms. F-Figg?" he breathed, shocked.

"May I come in?" asked the old lady, as though having old babysitters pop through his bedroom window for a midnight chat were the most normal thing in world. Without waiting for a response she transformed quickly into a cat and hopped through the window and onto Harry's bed. She contentedly groomed her bottlebrush tail and straightened herself, reappearing an old lady with gray hair and eyes. 

"Well, Harry, I'm sorry to disturb you, at this late hour-" she looked at the red numbers on the digital clock beside Harry's bed, "Hmm… 12:09, later then I thought…but the matter is really quite urgent. Please hold unto this…'" she said easily to Harry, tossing him a pennywhistle, "And we will be on our way." He curiously stared at it and suddenly felt a pull behind his navel. The whistle was a Portkey.

Harry lost his balance as he suddenly felt the cold ground beneath his bare toes. Groggily, he got up and spat out the gravel in his mouth. He looked up; blinking up at the harsh morning sunshine- the place was unfamiliar.

"Harry! Come _on_!" called Mrs. Figg abruptly, leading him to a small dingy pub, which was overhung with a crudely constructed sign that read, "the Phoenix Fire Alehouse: home of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey" with a scarlet and gold bird painted beneath it. "Stop ogling at the doorway!" She snapped, pushing him impatiently to its thick oaken door.

"Mars is bright tonight. Lucky, for dark nights are always unpleasant," said a voice behind the door after Mrs. Figg had knocked loudly several times.

"Yes, especially for strangers who travel," whispered Mrs. Figg in response into the door. 

"The clouds are heavy," spoke the person behind the door.

"Yes, a storm is approaching," responded Mrs. Figg lazily. The eyes disappeared and Harry heard a clink of a key being inserted clumsily into its lock.

A masked person who said familiarly, "Arabella," addressing Mrs. Figg, greeted them, "You've brought the boy? _Excellent_." Harry shivered. Inside he saw a dusty room crawling with cockroaches, but that wasn't what unnerved him. There were forty or so hooded figures, like those in Dudley's dream, staring at a man peering into a stone basin and stirring a silver liquid impatiently with his wand. It was a Pensieve. The shrouded figures stood back, in awe of the person in the center, radiating awesome power. This scene gave Harry a feeling of utmost terror. 

Harry felt trapped. He looked back at Mrs. Figg, _were they supposed to be here_? His mind whirled in confusion. She was smiling and standing satisfied in front of the door. Harry's way out was blocked and he was surrounded by the mysterious figures. Slowly, the man in the center turned around. Harry, suddenly, felt a blinding burning in his scar, feeling as though a red-hot branding iron was being pressed to his forehead. Screwing his eyes up in agony, he collapsed on all fours, breathing heavily. The pain was unbearable. Slowly his breathing grew more and more ragged as heard as though from a badly tuned radio, the yells of Muggle families screaming as Lord Voldemort tortured and killed them. It was the same fate that awaited Harry. He screamed aloud with torment. Tears blurred his vision and soon everything became oppressing darkness that enveloped him like a death shroud. 

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Harry awoke to find himself on the dirty floor, in his pajamas, twitching uncontrollably.

"You all right there, Potter?" said a cold voice Harry definitely wasn't happy to hear. It was the voice of Severus Snape. 

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A/N: Lot's of cliffhangers. Do you like "The Hungry Horntail" or "the Phoenix Fire Alehouse" better? This is my first fan fiction, but I can take criticism. Just so you know Snape is one of my favorite characters. Please R/R!


	2. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

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Disclaimer: I don't _really_ own the Harry Potter series. If I did this wouldn't have a disclaimer, but then again… :: _begins plotting some way to create multi-million dollar characters_::. Oh well, that's too hard, I'll save that for the professionals. I just like using the characters as my puppets…twisting them to do my will…BWA HA HA ::_ begins gagging and exits_:: ::_returns with a glass of water, clears throat_::Is that a crime?

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Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

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By Sabrina Clarke and Fiona Chan

"Harry! Harry?" called a distant voice anxiously, shaking him roughly by the shoulders. Even his own name seemed unfamiliar to him as it echoed strangely inside of his head.

Harry blinked several times as everything around him slowly came into focus- each outline surrounded by an almost ethereal milky glow. In the hazy fog, he saw a bit of gold glittering above him. The Snitch! He reached out to grab it, but his arms felt leaden. In fact, all of him felt as though he was in a full body bind. A strange tingling followed each muscle movement. As his vision cleared, he found himself staring into a pair of bright, piercing blue eyes, framed by golden half-moon spectacles.

Harry suddenly felt awake, sitting up abruptly he breathed in relief, and "It's you Professor Dumbledore!" he began, then stopped, and stared around his unfamiliar surroundings, in dizzying confusion, "What just happened?" 

"You know your scar hurts when Voldemort is near and when he is feeling especially hateful," said Dumbledore quite coolly, although, as each wrinkle defined itself on his face, he looked quite old and strained. Holding out an aged hand he pulled Harry to his feet, "…Rest assure, young Harry, that Voldemort is far from here." He stood silent for a moment and muttered, "Far enough." With that he unrolled a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Harry once more cast a wary eye around the mysterious hooded figures in the room and looked questioningly at Dumbledore. 

"Professor I-" he trailed off and tried to think of a polite way to say, _who are these people who look remarkably like Death Eaters or might actually be them and what the hell are you doing with them?_ but it came out as, "So… erm, nice place you got here."

Dumbledore merely smiled, although Harry was sure that Dumbledore had understood his unasked question. Harry strained his eyes to see who were the hooded figures, but the dim light of the tavern only vaguely illuminated their eyes, which glittered in the semi-darkness, "Harry, what did you hear, just now?" he asked, quite kindly, drawing Harry's attention from the silent and motionless people surrounding him.

Harry looked uneasily around the cluster of hooded people, once more, and sighed, as no one seemed to want to explain their presence. His eyes wandered around the bar, taking in the nicked, stained tables and chairs moved to the sides of the room so the people could congregate in the center. Even in this this strange environment, he felt safe, "I didn't hear much, except for screaming. He-he was killing muggles. " The entire room pervaded with silence and many covered eyes flickered to the empty spaces in the circle. No more needed to be said.

Snape coughed, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "Now Potter, if you would be _so_ kind as to tell us about your dream." 

Harry looked surprised and stammered, "I-I didn't dream, Professor Snape." He looked around uneasily as he heard the dingy room filled with ominous muttering. _Something was wrong._

Snape glowered at Harry, with the special expression of malevolence reserved just for him. "As I said, Headmaster, the boy is of no use to us," he sneered, "Or, perhaps, he merely wishes to keep his thoughts to himself. Modest are we, Potter?" he smiled as though what he had just said was laughable, "Tut-tut, a Potter _modest_?" 

Dumbledore frowned at Professor Snape, silencing him, "Ah, Harry, forgive me for waking you up at this hour." He turned to the group and shrugged, "_I_ was wrong." He looked pointedly at Snape. The masked faces muttered to one another. 

"I believe that, perhaps, we should have gotten the other one, Albus-," muttered Arabella Figg respectfully, but with a concealed tone of familiarity.

"What other one?" interrupted Dumbledore sharply, looking up. Ms. Figg opened her mouth to answer, but Harry had just about enough. 

He cut in quickly, "Where am I? Professor, what's going on…"? He stopped suddenly as Dumbledore's benign eyes wore an expression of sorrow.

"You've been far too long cut off from the magical community, Harry…the game is afoot, the Death Eaters and Voldemort-" he paused and Harry was surprised to see that no one flinched at the sound of the name, "have wreaked havoc and chaos on the stability we have tried to rebuild during his absence." He sighed very sadly, "They wanted me for the Minister of Magic, Harry, and I refused them. I was selfish; I did not want to leave Hogwarts. I thought I could work with Fudge as my supporter, but now I realize what I have done." with that Dumbledore handed Harry the paper. Mrs. Figg walked up slowly and whispered to Dumbledore, who shook his head.

Harry read the titles, "FUDGE ABDICATES MINISTER OF MAGIC POSITION, OVERWORKED MINISTRY TRIES TO HIDE KILLINGS FROM MUGGLES, and MUGGLE & WIZARD DEATH NOTICES. He gasped at the numerous moving, black-and-white pictures of the Dark Mark and tearful people. He looked up.

"All this has happened?" 

"Yes, Harry, all this has happened and more. In two months, Voldemort has destroyed all that has taken us 15 years to repair. So now we need you," said Dumbledore gravely.

"Me?" 

"Yes, Harry, you," said another hooded figure lowering his hood and stepping into the prominence of the single light bulb lighting the dingy room. Under this spotlight, his waxy skin looked even paler and his long matted hair shone with a greasy texture, made him look very vampire-like. Harry smiled- it was Sirius. 

"Sirius!" he said, smiling brightly, "I'm so happy to see you!" He reached out to embrace his godfather, but Sirius held him back.

"I'm not," said Sirius shortly, "Harry I hoped you were safe, but-" 

Dumbledore raised a warning hand, frowning slightly. "Desperate times, desperate measures." 

"Harry, we have taken you out of safety to come to the most dangerous place you could possibly be," stated Dumbledore gravely, "These people…they are the Anti-Death Eaters- the Order of the Phoenix, and it is our first meeting in many years. Should anyone disloyal be in this group we would all be as good as dead." Harry stole a sideways glance at Snape, but his face was expressionless- an odd mixture of rapt attention and cool indifference. Many shuffled their feet mumbling ominously, some looked helplessly and hopelessly at Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, it has not come to this?" cried a scraggly man with moth-eaten robes, in desperation, "Surely, things are not back to they way the have been! Has all we worked for in those dark years amounted to nothing?" Many shrouded heads bobbed in agreement.

"Look at these pictures, Mundungus Fletcher! The truth is not hidden!" cried Professor Snape grabbing the paper from Harry's hand and waving it around. 

"Yes, because we were missing one thing…you, Harry." said Dumbledore, "One day, you remember. It was the day Cedric died…" Harry felt the pressure of Sirius' hand on his shoulder, "It wasn't your fault, Harry," Sirius whispered.

Harry shook his head as Dumbledore continued, "When Voldemort took your blood, you did not realize its significance. I did, but did not know of its meaning, so I consulted my pensieve." he indicated the stone basin besides him. "Your blood is special. Do you remember what you learned about the power of unicorn blood? Drink it, it gives immortality, but at the price of misery. So will befall Voldemort. Now not only is there the curse that failed, but the blood that has united you. Voldemort is now human enough to die."

"We are here to protect you and now because of that potion that Voldemort made; you will be his downfall as well as his savior. He knows that and is not prepared to take a risk. _He will kill you_. Remember always, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Without that- you will die!" A man with grizzled hair and a grey stubbled face barked, emerging from the shadows with a _clunk, clunk_. His name was Alastor Moody.

Harry shivered as they all looked uneasily at him. They were trusting the livelihood of the entire magical community, in him. "I'm ready," he swallowed.

"Harry, were not asking you to do anything, but keep an eye out," said Mrs. Figg sternly giving him the same penetrating glare as Dumbledore, "You don't know what he's capable of-"

Harry interrupted, "I think I do. Voldemort killed my parents remember?"

An uncomfortable silence stifled the mutterings in the room and many looked sadly, once more, at the empty spaces in the circle.

Dumbledore looked sternly at Harry over the end of his half-moon spectacles, as though measuring him up with his penetrating blue eyes. As the meeting came to a close, many surveyed Harry with doom-laden expressions reminiscent to the looks Professor Trelawney gave him. Dumbledore sighed again and handed Harry the newspaper again, saying, "Read it and remember, constant vigilance!" 

At last the effects of sleep seemed to be dawning on him as through half-lidded eyes he heard Sirius whisper to Dumbledore, "Why didn't you tell him the everything?" Before he could ask what this meant, Mrs. Figg thrust a whoopee cushion in his hand and he felt that familiar pull behind his navel. 

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A/N: Thank you so far to the people who reviewed this. If anything is unclear tell me. R/R! 


	3. Mars is Bright Tonight

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Disclaimer: Okay, you know the drill. Anything in the Harry Potter books that isn't anywhere else belongs to J.K Rowlings and all I can do is borrow them and force them to obey me. Right? ::_general murmur of agreement from Harry Potter characters_:: Grr! _Right_?::_grabs Harry_:: Answer me or Harry gets it! ::_Ginny begins throwing a fit_:: Calm down, Ginny! You know I wouldn't hurt anyone ::_coughs, except Rita Skeeter_::

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Mars is Bright Tonight

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By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

His wand fell to the floor with an echoing clatter. Draco heard cries. He blinked. Another cry. He turned away. A gentle knock. A whispered word. 

"Good night Draco." 

"Good night, mother." 

Screaming. He pushed his head deeper into his pillow. Another scream. It didn't help that his bedroom was situated right next to the drawing room. More screams. His hands tentatively ran across his carpeted floor. Searching. He picked up his wand. _Good night, father._ Another scream. _Mercy! _Laughing. _Sweet dreams_. With a lethargic swish he soundproofed his walls. He ought to have done so earlier. Sometimes the screams of those in torment would lull him to sleep in a lullaby of misery. Not tonight. And he turned over and pulled his blankets around him tightly.

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"AARGHH!" yelled Harry, sitting up abruptly as claws viciously digging into his quilt rudely awakened him. "Gerroff," he growled, groggily dislodging the hissing animal. He looked around, the room was in a haze and looked unfamiliar with rustic decorations and a vague smell of cats. He rubbed his eyes and reached out blindly to see if his glasses were resting nearby. "Argh!" he muttered angrily as he slipped off his bed and landed on the floor with a dull _thump_. 

"Good morn'n, Harry. I'm sorry if little Mr. Tufty scared you," laughed a highly amused voice as she saw Harry slumped on the ground still groping blindly for his glasses. With that Mrs. Figg emerged, readjusting the light pink hand-knit shawl around her shoulders. "Not that a precious little creature like _you _could ever scare anyone," she cooed lifting the white cat and touching noses gently with it. Staring at her, Harry once more tried to connect the powerful, slightly odd, sorceress of last night with this vulnerable, demure old lady. "Ooh! Mr. Tufty, mommy knitted you an ickle sweater!" _Okay, well she's still slightly odd._

"Mrs. Figg! Where am I?" sputtered Harry looking, once more, around the strange room and finally seeing a black blur that just might be his glasses. He reached out-

"MEE-OW!" and Harry felt a stinging sensation as another cat raked his hand with its needle-like claws. _ I hate cats_.

Mrs. Figg tutted at Harry and clucked sympathetically at the kitten. 

"Well, Harry, we know of the _difficulty…"_ she smirked at him lying entangled in his sheets on the floor, _"…_you would have getting here, on your own, so I took the liberty of renting you a room in _the Leaky Cauldron_. I was just in the parlor room and came in when I heard you making a fuss and scaring the little darling kitties." She cleared her throat, "Let me know if you need any help." She handed him his glasses and remarked half seriously as she left the room, "We'll need to keep an eye on you." 

Harry looked around the room once more and unfolded the issue of the _Daily Prophet_ that Dumbledore had given him the night before. He tentatively ran his fingers across his scar. Nothing; but his head was throbbing as though he had just fallen fifty feet off a broomstick. 

Harry stared, dumbfounded, at the cover of the _Daily Prophet_, it read:

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Fudge Abdicates Minister of Magic Position

By Catherine Pennifold

There has been a recent and unanimous uproar against former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Living the life of the famous, with his expensive, unique dress and lavishness of living, he seems to have repaid the magical community for its generosity by abandoning it. "We wanted a leader and turned to him, and he deserted us when we needed him most," says disgruntled Junior Minister of Magical Catastrophes, Martin Dingle.

Fudge had reportedly gained millions of galleons from the support of wizard folk and many illegitimate charities and funds. He suddenly disappeared at the advent of the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The reason for this sudden action remains unknown. A magical psychologist of _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_, who chooses to be anonymous, stated, "The Imperius Curse is ruled out as no one noticed any abnormal behavior or actions before he left. He probably realized that he wasn't man enough for the job and abandoned ship." 

While the community of the United Kingdom remains in chaos, many search for someone capable to fill this position. Most widely acknowledged as the best man for the job is Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, the famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Also, he is acclaimed for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945. Many hope that his previous experience in dealing with the Dark Arts can aid the Magical Community once more.Another popular candidate is Lucius Malfoy, leader of a very powerful and wealthy family; Malfoy donated large sums to excellent causes. After the fall of You-Know-Who, he quickly rose through the Ministry after his entrance in 1975 and is now the Minister of the Department of Mysteries. While his actions in this department are unknown, he lives a respectable life and has pioneered in Wizard rights; unlawful search, and his efforts resulted in previous records ignored in the court of justice and many others. The magical community remains divided amongst these candidates; however, many still fear abandonment from an unworthy candidate elected and are hesitant to cast a deciding vote.

Harry stared at the large picture of Fudge on the cover of the _Daily Prophet _in shock. He tried to envision this pompous man ditching the magic-folk of the United Kingdom, when its need was most desperate. His eyes skimmed over the Death Notices (magical and Muggle) and silently cursed the turmoil that everything was in. _ This was all Voldemort; Voldemort ruined their lives, and mine too_, he thought furiously, rubbing his eyes. He heard Hagrid's voice describing Voldemort to him in his head, "_Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult…All right-Voldemort. Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this-this wizard about twenty years ago started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em too- some were afraid, some jus' wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was getting' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards o' witches…terrible things happened. He was takin' over…_" _And now those days have returned_, Harry thought miserably as another glittering picture of the Dark Mark reflected off of his round glasses. And _he's after me._

He flipped absently through the paper- bad news, bad news… He continued flipping until he reached the comics, and gave a half-hearted laugh at the moving caricatures. Hagrid's words echoed dismally in his head, "_Terrible things happened. He was takin' over…_" Harry closed the paper in dismay and flung it angrily at his night table. He looked at the paper curiously as he saw a piece of paper poking out, differently colored from the gray and slightly wrinkled newsprint. Reaching out, he extracted the piece and stared. 

It wasn't part of the _Daily Prophet_, it seemed to be a piece torn from a newsletter called the _North Star. _On it, in hastily scribbled curly writing that Harry recognized as Dumbledore's, it read:

Harry,

Mars is bright tonight. Lucky, for dark nights are always unpleasant.

Especially for strangers who travel.

The clouds are heavy.

A storm is approaching. 

Harry read the letter over and over again until he had it memorized, wondering what it meant. He crawled out of bed and approached the window, staring at the muggle traffic below him and looked up to see the sun shining brightly above him. _The clouds are heavy…the clouds are heavy…_ His thoughts were interrupted, by a tapping on his window as right in front of him he saw his owl, Hedwig tapping anxiously at the window.

"Hedwig!" he said in surprise, "that was quick!" and quickly tore open the letter.

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Harry,

Mom says that Dumbledore won't let you come over. I asked Dad and he says he doesn't know why. Too bad. Did you blow up your Aunt again? Everyone, especially Ginny, says hi. Even if you don't get to come over, we'll be able to see you a week before term starts to get our Hogwarts stuff. I'm giving you my birthday present early since I'll be going to visit family most of the summer. It's a bag of Fred and George's specialty dung bombs and some extra ton-tongue toffee's. Dudley beware! I might as well wish you a happy birthday early, too. I'll send you an owl as soon I get back from Wales. Don't let the Muggles give you any trouble! If they do I'll send Fred and George out to hex them. I might not have to, you could have already. Oh yeah, Fred and George are setting up their own joke shop now in Hogsmeade, it's called, "The Revenge of the Weasels_." that sells their own specialty stuff (you know "_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes"_) Mum doesn't care, what with You- Know-Who on the loose, she thinks a joke shop is safe enough for her ickle twins (even if _they're_ running it). Just in case, beware any lollipops, potato chips, and club soda that anyone gives you. Send a reply with Pig A.S.A.P so I get it before I leave to visit my relatives._

Bye-

Ron

P.S Have you heard anything from Hermione? She hasn't responded since the beginning of June.

Harry unwrapped the package and inside were several brightly-wrapped ton-tongue toffees with several tiny dung bombs. With a smile, he carelessly threw the package on the floor, but one of them exploded, releasing a putrid, thick black smoke. He coughed and sputtered. _More disgusting then usual_, he thought. He got up from his bed and opened a window, releasing the smelly air into the muggle traffic below. _Not that they would notice, with all that thick exhaust._

"Anything you need?" said Mrs. Figg abruptly as she ran into the room. She stopped and surveyed the foggy room and the broken and twisted remains of the Dungbomb lying on the floor. She raised an eyebrow. 

Harry nodded. "I could use something to eat," he muttered, his stomach growling, "I'll be going back right?" 

"Yes, but only for about a week or so, but I'll come over and bring you back here to Diagon Alley, to get your Hogwarts stuff." She muttered a spell, raised her wand and shot a silver streak carelessly.

"Ow!" yelled Harry angrily, rubbing his forehead.

"What Harry? Is your scar giving you pain? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" asked Mrs. Figg worriedly.

"No, your stupid spell hit me in the head," he growled, continuing to massage his head. 

"Oh well." She seemed almost disappointed. "Here's your letter for Hogwarts, everything's there; list of books, permission slip, ticket etc…You'll have no problem getting on the train, I presume?" she snapped, pursing her lips, "No more, shall we say, _creative _means of getting to Hogwarts?"

Harry, at first, looked shocked then smiled at Mrs. Figg's mischievous gray eyes, "Yeah, no problem," he remarked casually remembering the regrettable incident of the Weasley's flying Ford Anglia in second year.

"Well, you can't be trusted, anyway, so for the last week of your stay, the ministry official's will ensure that you are safely board the train, on September first. In the meantime, the Headmaster has entrusted you back into the care of the Dursleys-" She smirked. "-as Professor Snape made it quite _clear _that you manage to find trouble everywhere," she paused and raised an eyebrow at him trying to clean up the burn marks on floor made by the dungbomb, "Assuming that you have matured since last here?"

Harry kept his face blank in feigned innocence, "No trouble here." He grinned, _trouble usually finds me and I can be blamed for what happens afterwards_, he thought.

A/N: The _North Star _was the name of an abolitionist newspaper (run by Frederick Douglass, I believe). I thought it was fitting. Alright go to page 224 of the Hardcover _CoS_ or just remember this:

Malfoy said this, "You know the ministry raided our manor last week? … Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very_ valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor-" _

You draw your own conclusions about what happens in that secret compartment. I think I made my views clear. Review, my dears…you know you want to…


	4. Dark Nights Are Always Unpleasant

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Disclaimer: Anything you read in the Harry Potter books that you haven't read anywhere else is the sole property of the one, the only, J.K Rowlings- bless her. The plot; however, and a couple other things of my invention, are just that, my invention…but she can have them if she wants _::shrugs::_

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Dark Nights Are Always Unpleasant

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

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"Where have you been, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon, rubbing his red eyes with his pudgy hands. He lay on the couch watching muggle late night comedy shows. There was an empty bottle of brandy next to him.

"I was kidnapped, but I told the kidnapper that to you would never pay any ransom for me, so he dropped me off back here." responded Harry, promptly. This was, needless to say, an absolute lie, but Mrs. Figg thought it would be better if her true powers were unknown.

Uncle Vernon turned his bleary eyes to the proud boy standing, unwelcome in his doorway. "I'm not stupid," he growled as Harry's fidgeting figure sharpened in the waning moonlight. He took a swig from a bottle behind his back and stared intently at Harry to get him into focus.

"Could have fooled me," Harry muttered. 

Uncle Vernon stood up from the couch in rage, swaying slightly and leaning on it for support. "What was that, eh? I heard it." and Uncle Vernon raised a fat hand and pushed Harry roughly into the wall, causing a framed picture of Aunt Marge at her most odious to fall and shatter on the carpeted floor. "See what you've done?" Uncle Vernon bellowed in Harry's face, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Through the window, Harry saw many lights flicker on, down Privet Drive. Faces appeared in the curtained windows, peering anxiously into the blue light from the television that illuminated the Dursley's living room.

"I didn't do anything!" Harry yelled, backing himself further into the corner, nearby the cupboard under the stairs. _If he could just open the door-_

"Since you first came you've been nothing but trouble. You and your ruddy school, your ruddy magic, and your ruddy hair!" he screamed pulling spitefully on Harry's hair and bringing Harry's head to his eye level so he could yell properly.

Harry remained silent as his hand groped for the brass doorknob to the cupboard under the stairs. Uncle Vernon halted a couple of inches from Harry and suddenly seemed tired. Waving slightly in his walk, he staggered back to his chair to watch his shows. For a moment Harry stood frozen and stared at his Uncle's motionless form. Very slowly and quietly he began to heave his trunk up the stairs to his room. As he passed Uncle Vernon, he muttered, "Like I wanted to be here anyway."

Uncle Vernon opened one eye and grabbed Harry's arm as he passed. Eyes glittering malevolently, Uncle Vernon snatched the nearest object, which happened to be a glass figurine and threw it at Harry's head.

"ARGH!" yelled Harry, but the glass merely bounced off of his head unto the floor, where it broke. Harry quickly backed away from Uncle Vernon's enormous frame. With an angry bellow, Uncle Vernon lost his head completely and began throwing ornaments at Harry in a furious rage. To Harry's and Uncle Vernon's surprise they all bounced off, as though they were made out of rubber, and smashed on the floor.

"Ver-non! Wake the whole neighborhood, will you?" shrieked Petunia Dursley from her room angrily, "This will set Mr. and Mrs. Next-Door talking, if they aren't already!" Uncle Vernon ignored her and threw another ornament at Harry, which landed with a clang on the now dented wall behind him. _Bang! _Petunia stalked out of her room and slammed the door, hastily tying a fluffy pink robe around her skinny waist. She looked something like a banshee to Harry; her hair was in disarray, some in curling papers, others lying frizzy in a heap on her shoulders. Her face was covered in a foul-smelling green paste, and the mask had cracked because her face was currently contorted in rage. Even when he was drunk, Vernon Dursley was not stupid enough to pick a fight with his wife when she was in this sort of mood. 

She stomped angrily down the steps and suddenly stopped when she saw Harry standing, bewildered in the corner. They locked eyes for a moment, his bright green, round with surprise, with her shiny, beady ones narrowed in anger. She seemed startled and a little afraid at the sight of him, "Harry…" she breathed, and then suddenly regained her composure, "Go!" she barked, pointing at the door, "Just go!" 

Harry began walking out, but he paused at the doorway, his moonlit silhouette casting an eerie reflection on the carpeted floor.

"I'll be at Ms. Figg's." he called, before he melded into the dark night and all that was visible was his lightening bolt shaped scar. With that the boy who lived disappeared into the night headed for the safety of a protecting witch.

Ms. Figg's house was creepy at night. The moon was full and Harry could just detect Mars glinting vaguely, just above the horizon. 

"Mars is bright tonight," he observed. Behind him he heard the steps of some unseen creature, following him. Was that a swish of robes, he heard? Harry grabbed his wand and whipped around. Scanning the unblemished darkness in front of him, he thought he detected something- glinting. Then, out of the corner of his vision, he saw two amber eyes staring right back at him. 

"Me-ow!" he heard, and he let out a sigh of relief, _it was only a cat_. _For a minute I thought…_ Harry shook his head. Nonetheless, he quickened his pace and he walked through the dark woods behind the Dursley's house. Even though it was a shortcut, he regretted walking through the gloomy deciduous forest. His breath rose in a mist before him as his pace quickened on the crunching leaves. 

"Letter here, for Mr. Potter!" and Harry felt a cold hand rest on his shoulder and a chill ran up his spine. The coldness of the night spread throughout his tired body and he felt himself growing faint. As a cold blade touched his cheek, he felt his exhaustion finally asserting itself and his weakness spreading throughout his limp body. 

****

"_Quietus_." whispered the voice into Harry's ear.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but his voice could barely rise above a whisper. "It was no trouble finding you, Potter…" said Peter Pettigwrew with a dry chuckle. Dumbledore thinks your well hidden, but I guess your not as well hidden as he thought." Peter's voice mumbled a spell, and from his wand blossomed ropes that coiled around Harry like live snakes and bound him to a nearby birch tree. Despite the coldness of the night, he felt sweat drip down his face. "…There is only one reason, you are not dead right now, and that is because you saved me. I found you under orders to kill you, but I'm giving you a chance." Dry leaves crunched underneath Peter's feet as he paced back and forth in front of Harry.

"How-how did you find me?" Harry stammered, _keep them talking, _he thought. In is mind, he heard Tom Riddle's sneering voice echo in his head from second year, _the longer you talk, the longer you live._

Someone stepped out from the shadows of the forest and laughed- a high-pitched, mirthless laugh. "Lord Voldemort has his ways." Red painted nails readjusted the hood on her black robes, and she gently gripped his face, slowly tightening her grasp on his face- her claw-like nails digging into his pale flesh. She turned to Peter and asked, her voice light and cheerful, "Shall we torture him now?"

"But- I-I saved you!" hissed Harry accusingly at Pettigrew, "You said-"

"You will live Potter," Pettigrew's smile widened, "But there are _so_ many things worse then death."

Slowly they both raised their wands and called out, "_Crucio_!" into the blackness of the night. Harry braced himself for the stabbing pains that would soon run through his already weak and fatigued body.

"Meow!"

From the shadows of the forest, a bandy-legged cat leapt and scratched at Pettigrew's face. In the flurry of flesh and fur, Harry lost sight of the hooded woman. Still bound by the tight ropes, he struggled as the rough bark cut into his already raw flesh. Ms. Figg suddenly appeared and cried, "Stupefy!" at Pettigrew. She stood upright and kicked at the motionless form of Pettigrew, his face still obscured by the mask; she reached down to lift it…

"Mmmffmm." Harry felt two ice cold hands grab his face and close around his mouth. Keeping one hand still on his mouth, the other hand creeped slowly up and yanked out lock of Harry's hair. "You will die, Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort is a hunter who always gets his prey." The hands slid away as Ms. Figg looked up.

"Harry!" she cried, untying the coarse ropes that bound him. 

"Ms. Figg, don't you see? That's Pettigrew- Peter Pettigrew!" Harry pointed behind Ms. Figg, and smiled, to her surprise. _Sirius would be free and safe soon, _he thought. Looking for his wand he stuffed his hands into his pockets. There was nothing there.

"Hey! Where's my wand?" he asked Ms. Figg, turning inside out his pockets.

Ms. Figg turned around and scowled, "He's not there…" she growled pointing to the now empty place where Peter's body had lay, "Who could have…?" Her voice weakened, in the windless night, she heard rustling leaves. Far off, she heard the cry of a wolf. _Or was it werewolf? _Under the bright light of the full moon, Harry saw her turn pale. "We're getting out of here. Forget the Dursley's, Harry. I can't keep you safe, here. We're going back to Tom's." 

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A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! I'm open to any suggestions you might have, flames accepted, although they do lower my self-esteem…Anyways, luv that input! Keep it coming!


	5. For Strangers Who Travel

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Diagon Alley

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A/N: Okay, I began writing a chapter about Diagon Alley and everything that happened there. Rereading it, I noticed something. Nothing happened. Let me just say this- Harry bought his school books had a couple of chats with Florean Fortescue, yeah, that's the sundae guy. Ron was still visiting his family and Hermione wasn't there either. If I'm really bored, I might write it, but the next chapter will be exciting!_ ::gulp:: _I hope…

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Disclaimer: All Hail J. K Rowlings! (j/k) She is the source of my inspiration, and the source of all this Harry Potter stuff I'm writing. Thanks also to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Oh yeah! I own nothing except the things that have been labeled, "Property of the Queen and Ultimate Ruler of the Universe" by my brand-new _Fantastic & Fun _Label Maker. 

PROPERTY OF THE QUEEN AND ULTIMATE RULER OF THE UNIVERSE (j/k) 

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For Strangers Who Travel

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

"Well, Harry I'll…" Ms. Figg blew her nose, "Miss you."

Harry missed his life at Hogwarts- it was a constant ache that wouldn't go away. He missed everything- the grounds, the games, the classes and as he stepped through the Muggle barrier into Platform 9 ¾, he felt as if he was home at last. "Thanks for everything, Ms. Figg!" Harry said to the retreating back, covered with a pink shawl. She was the only member of the wizarding world he had been in contact with during the summer. Sirius had long stopped his letters, with things being as they were a correspondence was just too risky. Hagrid hadn't responded to any of his mail, so Harry supposed he was out, probably somewhere with Madame Maxime. Hermione was off to God-knows where- she hadn't kept in touch with him since the beginning of June, either. Privately, Harry thought she went to Bulgaria to see Krum, but he wasn't about to tell Ron that. Ron was off seeing his relatives and Harry didn't even see him in Diagon Alley. So Harry watched Ms. Figg as she stepped into the wall and slowly her pink stole blended in with the bruise colored brick, eventually scattering and melting like grains of sand on the grimy surface which opened into the Muggle world. As the last glimmer of pink faded into the wall he heard- 

"Harry! Hi!" cried Hermione, waving energetically. "Oh Harry! I was so worried, what with You-Know-Who…"

"Hermione! Hi!" called Harry, running forward to a very cheery Hermione.

"How was your summer?" 

Harry struggled on what to say, or not to. Clearly from her greeting, Hermione was worried enough for him already, his voice sunk to a hushed whisper, "Well, during the summer-" he stopped and mentally shook his head. Regaining his volume, he continued, "Well, it was definitely exciting. How was yours?"

Hermione wasn't fooled, but she let the matter drop. _Do I really want to know?_ "Erm, well I-" Hermione began, struggling with the unwieldy words she knew, to paint a picture of what happened. The letters. The message. And she was afraid, so afraid. She didn't leave Viktor's castle. She never even checked the mail anymore, but she knew what each letter was. They haunted her. Each letter was burned in the fireplace. But more always came. She shook her head, _Harry shouldn't know about this, _she chided herself,_ he's got enough on his mind already, _. 

"I suppose we should wait for Ron…" muttered Hermione, glancing around the crowded Platform, anxiously, "He should be here…" she muttered, distractedly.

She looked at Harry and barely heard the words, "You look terrible," spoken with no malice- only concern. Hermione pretended not to hear him as the minutes ticked closer to 11 o' clock and the noise of the platform had suddenly erupted into a pandemonium of last minute good-byes. "What happened?" as though from far away, she heard Harry's voice- like a droplet in an ocean of clamor, barely distinguishable against the chaos that enveloped and threatened to entomb her. 

"Here, give me your bags and I'll load them into the compartment for you."

"Gran, I can't find Trevor…"

"Crabbe, Goyle, be careful that you don't drop my bags."

"Colin, do you see him over there? Harry Potter!"

"Lavendar, I can't find my hairpiece. _You _know the one the _Beauxbatons _boy _gave_ me…"

"Did you see today's issue of the _Daily Prophet_? People have been…" the voice sunk to a nervous whisper and all Hermione could catch was, " Owl Post."

But the noise of all this was nothing compared to the utter disorder inside her. It echoed dismally- the pounding, throbbing cacophony building into a crescendo of torment.

Harry waved his hand in front of her face and looked slightly alarmed. "Hermione! Hermione?" His speech rapidly regained it volume, with the rushing of his lone voice sweeping away the noise of Red Sea, "Hello?" She still looked lost in her thoughts._ What happened? _thought Harry, _and why didn't she answer me? I knew she heard…_

"Oh sorry, Harry. It's just that over the summer-"

"Harry! Hermione! Oy!" cried a voice that banished away the awkwardness and secrecy of a few moments before. As Ron came running up to them, Hermione and Harry both felt a sense of familiarity descend upon them and they all hurried forward with excited greetings and good news, "Great to see you-" Ron paused and then continued, "both of you!" 

"Ron! Hi!" cried Hermione ecstatically, giving him a quick hug.

"Aw, gerroff me!" 

"Well, let's all go find a compartment, shall we?" cried Harry, clapping his hands together and beginning to heave his trunk up the worn, velvet steps.

"Actually, us _Prefects," _she hoped Ron or Harry would notice the badge- polished to perfection- or the proud grin that lit up her face, "have got our _own_ compartment way up in the front." 

"C'mon Harry," yelled Ron, over the noise of the _Hogwarts Express _turning on its engines, "we should find one that's not occupied already, then." He ran towards the scarlet steam engine and began leaning his weight against Harry's trunk to push it up into the train. Hermione stood, stunned. _Not even a 'Good for you, Hermione'. Honestly, _she thought to herself with a sigh. _Boys._

Harry looked back at her and smiled. Her heart leapt, "See you at the feast, Hermione!" he cried and then disappeared into the _Hogwarts Express_. She sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the cool concrete floor of Platform Nine and three- quarters.

Ron popped his head out of his compartment and yelled, "You had better hurry up, Hermione, were going to be leaving soon." 

She put her hands on her hips and scowled, _You could offer to help me! _Ron stopped, "Hold on. There's something missing." he looked at her trunk and frowned, "Hey Hermione! Where's Crookshanks?" Her scowl deepened as turned around and stalked away.

'_Congratulations, Hermione,'_ she whispered to herself as she prepared to heave her heavy trunk up the Prefect compartment steps. 

****

"Fancy seeing _you_ as a Prefect." said Hermione to the sprawled form of Draco Malfoy, who was absentmindedly twiddling a shiny, mahogany wand with his long, slender fingers. A silver Prefect's badge glittered on his black robes as he continued staring out the compartment window.

For several seconds, he did not respond. Draco muttered lazily, "At least seeing me is a privilege. Something I could hardly say about you." He continued to fidget with the wand deftly and keeping his back to her. Although he could not see her face, he relished the tension and strain he had caused in the atmosphere. He cursed under his breath, in the reflection of the window he saw her calm coolness which encased her like an icy barrier of nonchalance. Her expression was a reflection of his. He was getting frustrated with her unwillingness to comply with him- her dissent was more annoying then a scathing insult. "Mudblood." he added as and afterthought.

Hermione pursed her mouth shut and sat herself gingerly on the edge of the scarlet velvet bench. No reaction was discernable from her countenance as they sat together, somewhat awkwardly, in stiff, barely restrained silence, and facing opposite directions. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Mandy Brocklehurst sat together, absorbed in conversation- both were Muggle-borns. Their voices- a distant hum- only accented more the lull of quiet between the other two prefects. Seconds ticked by in silence, leaving Hermione alone with her oppressing thoughts and a bag full of her Hogwarts things. She lovingly fingered the worn leather book bag that her mother gotten her.

__

Well, it's a good time to catch up with some extra studying, she remarked to herself. She pulled out her luxury eagle feather quill and nibbled on the edge of it before dipping it into a pot of ink. She pulled out a sheaf of parchment, and started on her extremely comprehensive notes. With a flourish, Hermione began to sign her name in her small, neat handwriting. Her- 

She dropped the quill as though it had burned her. The ink was green. Bright green that looked like the color of a freshly pickled toad. It was the color that reminded her of Harry's eyes. It was the color that reminded her of the letters. She had opened them excitedly, thinking they were from Harry or Ron. From the envelope a lone slip of parchment fell to the floor. And she screamed-

"Well if it isn't my favorite Muggle-born," hissed Draco, who had finally turned around and faced a shaking Hermione. He looked sardonically amused at the vulnerable girl, and his smirk widened. _Pathetic_. "What's wrong with you, Granger?"

Hermione remained silent. Her worst fears were taking over her mind and corrupting her self-control. She didn't trust herself to speak. 

"Answer me, Mudblood." whispered Draco, his voice icy cool and controlled. But behind his unsettling, level gaze, she saw his anger bubbling to the point of overflow. Hermione took a deep breath and pulled her thoughts together and let the bossy, sensible, in control, _real_ Hermione Granger take over. 

She ignored him and desperately tried to seize the reigns of the untamed mare that was her temper. Angrily, she repacked her quill, parchment, and the '_A Study of Ancient Runes_' book into her book bag. Growling at Malfoy, she slammed open the compartment door with a _bang! _Justin and Mandy looked at her briefly with a flicker of interest, then continued on with their conversation. "That's it! I'm leaving this compartment!" she shrieked at Malfoy.

"You left your ink, Granger." said Draco, holding out the band-new inkpot to her. 

"I-I don't need it." she stammered beginning to back away from the bottle. Draco moved not a single muscle except for the one that controlled his left eyebrow, which rose, slowly and disdainfully. For a moment they locked eyes, but she turned her heel and started leaving the compartment. Hermione had barely gone two steps, when a jet of magenta light hit her shoes and she landed, face flat, on the dusty floor of the _Hogwarts Express_. Hastily getting to her feet, she looked at her sneakers, where the two laces had been tied together and glared at Malfoy. He, once again, had his back turned to her and was calmly playing with his wand. Malfoy must have used a binding charm when she had turned around. _Oh, that rotten bastard_, she thought, reveling in the unaccustomed swearword. She slowly raised her wand, but hesitated as she remembered the growling words of Professor Moody, _I don't like people who attack when their opponent's backs are turned - stinking, cowardly, scummy, thing to do… _Hermionehesitated._ Oh well, _she shrugged_, this is Malfoy_, she raised her wand and pointed it at Malfoy's blondehead._ And this is Malfoy- the amazing bouncing ferret…_

"AHHHHHH!" it was an almost inhuman cry, redolent of some excruciating pain- like being subjected to torture too terrible to imagine. 

Leaving the Prefect's compartment in a flash, Hermione bounded down the hallway as quickly as she could, as doors opened and people came rushing out to see the cause of all the commotion. In the lead of the rushing, excited crowd, Hermione paused in front to the first compartment, usually occupied by the witch with the pushcart full of sweets. It was compartment where the screaming was coming from. Her hand poised inches away from the doorknob, she hesitated, _Should we get a teacher? _

"Oh hurry up, Granger!" cried Malfoy pushing forward in the excited group. Before she could make one move, the door was open, revealing-

The lights blinked out and all was darkness. The students stood close together in the suffocating closeness of the dark, shivering from the sudden cold that crept up their robes, as each student was swallowed by his or her own fears and insecurities. Scenes of familiarity flashed in the window as they slowly drew nearer to Hogwarts, but they offered no comfort.

Students frantically searched their pockets for their wands to banish the smothering velvet that surrounded them and to reveal what was crouching in the darkness and was capable of such an unearthly scream. Or causing it.

Groping hands, felt along the walls of the halls, as they each tried to get back to their own compartments by the light of a single, guttering candle. Unfortunately for the Hogwarts school, that candle was held by Ron Weasly. He stepped towards the open door, swinging slightly with the movement of the train.

"No Ron!" hissed Ginny urgently tugging on his robes.

"Let's go find out what it is." Ron whispered, his face eerily silhouetted by the dancing flame. It was obvious he was enjoying all the attention.

****

Dudley Dursley sat at the back of his Math class in Smeltings. The teacher was prattling on about some assignment, but he wasn't paying attention. He could always steal it from some kid who got good grades. Looking around the musty smelling classroom, he sized-up any likely candidates. In the front row, listening aptly to the droning teacher, sat a small, dark-haired boy who looked no older then twelve. The boy looked a little like Harry. Dudley immediately hated him. His hands slowly inched to his wide bottom as he looked at the boy with fear, a fear only the thought of magic could create. As the teacher passed out the previous week's test grades, Dudley prodded Piers Polkiss in the back with his knobbly Smeltings stick. 

As Piers waved irritably for Dudley to 'stuff his fat face so he could hear what was going on', Dudley heard the teacher announce, "Only one person got a perfect grade." There was the sound of a collective indrawn breath. "I ask him to stand up and to proudly display his test." The small boy with the dark hair stood up, but his hands remained tightly clenched around his paper. Dudley smiled and nodded at Piers. Seconds passed- unnoticed, as the class speechlessly stared at the boy. The whole room sat waiting, in silence instilled by their fear of Dudley and his gang, until the bell rang. Then they continued sitting in their seats.

"I think our grades will be improving now, Dudley," whispered Piers Polkiss.

"I'll get things set up with Malcolm and Gordon." sniggered Dudley dully, pounding on his desk with a fat fist. The entire class remained motionless and stared at them, speaking so softly that even in the complete silence what conversation the two had was a mystery. Dudley and Piers, slowly followed by the stout and stupid Malcolm and Gordon, walked out of the room and waited in the hall for the rest of the class to leave the classroom. Slowly, the class filed out, talking to one another and moving their lunch money from their pockets to the soles of their shoes or underneath their flat straw boaters or where nobody, except themselves, could find it. 

The last person to walk out of the room was the small, black-haired boy. As the boy walked down the hall, Piers and Dudley appeared from the shadows, flanked, on either side, by Malcolm and Gordon. 

"We've been having a bit of trouble in Math class-" hissed Piers.

"Excuse me, but I'm going to be late-"

"-and I think you can help us." continued Piers as though the boy had not spoken. No one dared interrupt Piers. He crossed his thin, pale arms and approached the boy, who was easily a foot shorter then him. 

"Me? No I-" 

Piers shook his head and seemed to cluck his tongue with false sympathy. 

"_No_, I can't-" but the boy's remark was cut short by all three of the larger boys each stepping forward and balling their hands into fists- hovering only inches from his face. He felt like he was going to faint. No threat could possibly be clearer. Piers surveyed the boy, with cool, unshowing interest, but he seemed stiffened on his resolve. The three boys loomed about him, forming a wall of flesh that incased him and surrounded him with tangible menace that emanated from their very demeanor. 

"Perhaps, we can help you change your mind." Piers slate eyes became a dark, thundering grey and shook his head again, signaling that the boy could use a bit more…coercion. But before a single tooth could be taken out, or eye blackened, they suddenly dropped their poised fists. As though a magical force was protecting this puny, bespectacled boy, all of them suddenly had the little tingling feeling that told them that they had to go to the bathroom and they sped off before a single hair on his body could be harmed. 

Dudley in the lead, they pounded down the brown and beige-tiled halls with an echo following them that sounded like several, stampeding elephants. They ran as fast as they could into the nearest bathroom and into the closest, empty stalls. Dudley squeezed himself into the first stall and began pulling down his bright-orange knickerbockers with a sigh, but suddenly he felt as though someone had put a hook, somewhere behind his navel, that was pulling him forward by an invisible leash.

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A/N: I know what your thinking. But I just wanted to humiliate Dudley, okay? You wouldn't think I would forget about him after the first Chapter, right? ::crosses Dudley off of her "_List of People to Put in Embarrassing Situations_":: Hmmm, I see that Rita Skeeter is next…I wonder what's in store for her…? Oh yeah, and that whole chapter name thing and that conversation in _A Night Prowler _to get into the Pheonix Fire Alehouse, with the exception of "Mars is bright tonight" was taken from "The Valley of Fear" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes). (No, Fiona did not write this or any of the Chapters with the exception of Chapter 1 which she helped me write- she is editor) Yes or No- Hermione/Draco fic? 


	6. The Clouds Are Heavy

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Disclaimer: I feel lazy today. I don't own Harry Potter. I think that's enough. 

The Clouds Are Heavy

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By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts continued in uneasy, controlled silence, but no one could suppress the furtive glances at a friend- glances that betrayed fear and revealed an underlying excitement of the unknown.

"Go on, Ron!" hissed Seamus Finnigan, giving Ron an encouraging push. 

"You do it!"

"No, you! You're closer!"

Ron took a deep breath, "Has anyone got their wand, then?"

Hermione stepped forward, and handed Ron the wand, which she would have used to hex Malfoy. _I still can_, she considered, spying his blonde hair glittering in the darkness. As their hands came in contact she held unto her wand a bit longer then necessary. _I'm going to regret this_, _I know I will_. Ron blushed. 

"ARGH!" 

From the darkness, a blur emerged. It was briefly illumed by the wand and candle light, but all that could be seen was a shock of blonde hair. Or was that Malfoy's hair? But it was gone as quickly as it came. 

****

"What _was _that, Ron?" exclaimed Parvati, tugging on Ron's sleeve and leaning into his arm as they walked through the heavy doors that opened to Hogwarts.

Ron looked uncomfortable, "Well…" he squirmed, leaning away from Parvati.

"Ron, you were closest, you must've got a good look at it!" yelled Seamus, giving him a clap on his back.

Dean stepped forward, next to Parvati, "I was pretty close too!" he put an arm on her shoulder, and whispered, "I reckon, it was a lethifold." Everyone stared at him. "You know one of those deadly beasts that look like a cloak? The ones that creep up when your sleeping and suffocate you?" Everyone continued staring at Dean. "Last time _I_ listen in Care of Magical Creatures." he muttered.

Parvati shrugged his arm off with practiced ease. She stepped closer to Ron and whispered in his ear, "_You _were very brave."

Ron looked in the other direction and pretended not to notice her. His face turned a deep crimson as he sought out Hermione's bushy hair amongst the throng of students. He stepped in her direction and called, "Oh, Herm-oh-ninny!"

Hermione groaned. _I hate it when he calls me that. _She raised her eyes to the enchanted ceiling and pretended not to notice the eagerly gesturing red-head behind her. 

She opened her mouth for a cutting response. "Ron-" but Hermione was distracted by the maniacal cackling of Peeves the Poltergeist, as he began to do a spirited tap dance on several people's heads. "Ow!"

"Peeves, now, enough is enough!" cried Professor McGonagall, exasperatedly, as once more she found him practicing his dance moves on the students heads, "Get down here, this instant!" she screamed, hurling hexes angrily at him as he spun away chuckling and occasionally blowing raspberries in her direction.

"Good old Hogwarts," remarked Harry, thoughtfully, as he watched familiar faces chatting in the noisy hall and a livid Mc Gonagall chasing Peeves. The entire school settled into a sense of comfort- comfort that only the aging and beautiful castle could bring.

Before she sat at the Gryffindor table, Hermione took a deep breath. She pulled her thoughts together and let the bossy, sensible, in control, real Hermione Granger take over. _If he calls me 'Herm-oh-ninny' I'm going to scream_. She strode to the Gryffindor Table huffily. 

"Sorry Hermione," muttered Harry, sheepishly.

"Yeah," Ron grumbled, "but we'd've known about you being a _Prefect _if you'd kept in touch." This half-hearted apology barely tugged at Hermione's heart strings. She frowned, pushing her chestnut hair out of her face. 

__

Such thin hands, such a thin face…They both looked at her closely- she seemed different.

"Had a good summer, eh?" asked Nearly-Headless Nick, cheerfully to the Gryffindor's which was answered by a general chorus of vague responses. He grinned and pulled his overlarge ruff a little higher on his unstable neck.

"Yeah…"

"I guess…"

"Mmhmm…" 

"I hope they hurry with the Sorting…"groaned Ron as he stared expectantly at the, now empty, golden plates.

"Shh…Ron it's about to start!" scolded Hermione impatiently as a small flap at the mouth of the hat opened wide-

"Hurry, Ginny! We're going to be…" Colin Creevey's voice faded off as all eyes in the Hall turned to him.

"Late," finished Professor Snape icily, striding forward with a particularly venomous smile at the two Gryffindors. 

"I will handle this, Severus," snapped Professor McGonagall, holding out her arm to stop Snape from continuing forward. She hastily handed the Sorting list to Professor Sprout and barked, "Weasley! Creevey! My office! Now!" Pointing to the exit of the Great Hall, she strode angrily out with the tardy pair following guiltily after her. 

Professor Sprout stood up, rather hesitantly, reading various names alphabetically off of a piece of parchment.

"Alba, Serena," she called, causing a small, timid girl to hesitantly put on the hat. 

After a moment's pause, the hat announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and the little girl ran to the table where a merry ghost known as the Fat Friar eagerly welcomed her. 

"Douglas, Amelia" became the first Gryffindor and so it continued all the way until… 

"Eriksson, Stanley", who was a Ravenclaw.

"Wonder who our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher is going to be?" Hermione mused, quickly scanning the teachers' table in search of new faces. Catching Hagrid's eye, she saw him smile and wave at her. He looked different. Very different. She giggled, "Look at Hagrid!" Hermione prodded Ron.

Harry laughed, "I must say it does all the better for him." and he gave Hagrid a thumbs up sign. The messy tangles of untamed hair were now cut easily half a foot shorter and were slicked back.

Ron grinned, "He probably just wanted to look better for Madame Maxime." he chanced a half glance at Hermione, "He really likes her."

Hermione smiled in a self-satisfied sort of way, "He'd better! He spent all summer with her." she murmured. Harry and Ron grinned and gave Hagrid another set of thumbs up.

Hermione laughed. "He was off being an ambassador." Harry and Ron both raised their eyebrows.

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Harry, "Of course! That special job over the summer…Dumbledore suggested that Fudge-"

Ron scowled, "Don't even mention that name."

"Well, Dumbledore suggested that _he_ send envoy's to the giants-" Harry continued in an undertone, looking around the chattering table.

"And who better then Hagrid and Madame Maxime!" exclaimed Hermione a little too loudly.

"Who is our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher is going to be?" Seamus said to Ron as the last name, "Zarelli, Joseph", was called.

"Dunno," whispered Ron, "But I 'spect we'll be finding out soon," Ron nodded at Dumbledore as he raised his hands for silence.

"Ah, another year at dear old Hogwarts…another feast, another beginning- for many." announced Dumbledore, "Meet our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, Professor Evaline Smethwyk." At her name, a very skinny woman with highly pronounced cheekbones, stepped forward, immediately dominating the entire table with a perturbing sense of mystery. Despite her paleness, she had a certain air of elegance, which made up for her lack of beauty. There was a rather weak applause, as many students stared at the cold, expressionless face, framed by dark locks, and looked to her class without enthusiasm. 

"Oh boy," said Ron sarcastically.

Dean leaned over to Harry and whispered, "Snape must be fuming, he missed the Defense Against Dark Arts job _again_!"

Hermione once more scanned the teacher's table and said, somewhat surprised, "I don't think so." She pointed to where Snape stood. Harry felt his jaw drop; he had just seen the strangest thing in whole life. He had seen Snape laugh.

"Look!" he hissed, "Snape is-"

Seamus looked up mildly surprised and whispered something to Lavender Brown. She giggled, "I reckon their friends."

"She looks even tougher then Mc Gonagall." muttered Harry with a groan. Hermione, however, did not say anything, and only picked her Shepard's pie. She sighed and rested her head sadly on her elbows. 

Harry looked at her with surprise, "What's the matter, Hermione?" 

"She's probably thinking about her classes or something," said Ron distractedly, eyeing the last treacle tart.

Hermione glared daggers at Ron and mumbled, "I was just thinking…oh never mind." She waved her hand vaguely.

Harry stared at her out of the corner of his eye and finally remarked, "This has nothing to do with spew, right?"

This seemingly offhand comment had its desired effect, Hermione laughed, "No, Harry. I think S. P. E. W is permanently disbanded." Ron and Harry both feigned disappointment.

"But Hermione-!" They pretended to protest.

Dumbledore stood up once more, "To all new students remember the Forbidden Forest is exactly that, forbidden. Also, the list of unacceptable items has been extended to include _all _of Fred and George Weasley's new supplies of magical mischief- Really P.U.Trid Dung Bombs, Canary Creams, Ton Tongue Toffees, etc. Good night to you all! Off you trot." 

As Harry passed by the teacher's table, he heard Filch whisper to Ms. Norris, "Should have known those miserable twins would give us trouble, even _after_ they graduated." The Gryffindors cheerfully exited the Great Hall, chatting noisily. Distracted by Peeves, who had stolen Professor Flitwick's hat, they ran straight into Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson at Hermione.

The Gryffindors glowered at the Slytherins, who merely waggled their tongues menacingly. Ron stepped forward, but was held back, "Gerroff Harry!" but the strong, almost painful, grip remained and he turned around- annoyed. He paled. "Professor!"

"Is there trouble here?" inquired their new DADA teacher, who looked sternly at the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"There's always trouble when Potter's around," whispered Snape, giving Harry a particularly venomous look, "Right Malfoy?" but Draco, too, had paled, even more then usual, and no longer seemed like he wanted his thoughts to be heard.

A large group had collected around the exit of the Great Hall, but Snape shooed them irritably away, "Clear off! Unless you want a detention with _me _tomorrow. I'm sure Mr. Filch and I would be more then happy to arrange something. Something very painful." The other Houses quickly left at this, heading down the corridors to their dormitories, and scowling at Professor Snape. "Sorry to spoil your fun." he sneered at their retreating backs, delighted with spreading misery amongst his students.

As the Gryffindor's stomped angrily away, Ron commented, "Weird, though, that Draco wouldn't give us a bad wrap to the new teacher. That was almost _human _of him."

"Yeah, _almost_," said Hermione with a cheerful smile at Ron. Ron blushed and tripped on the trick step most students had learned to avoid. 

****

Harry awoke to find himself the only one in the dormitory. He entered the Great Hall quickly and plopped himself next to Hermione at the head of the Gryffindor table.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," Hermione responded quickly. Too quickly. Harry raised his eyes, but dismissed it as the post owls had just arrived. One dropped the _Daily Prophet _and an enormous Great Grey dropped a letter in Hermione's lap.

"Who's it from?" asked Harry as Ron groggily stumbled into the Hall.

For a moment she was silent. "Viktor…" murmured Hermione, wistfully, turning scarlet as Ron pulled out the chair next to her.

"Ah, we have eggs and bacon!" said Ron, loudly, giving himself generous portions of each and eating them ravenously, not really seeming to pay attention to anything else. 

Harry whispered to Hermione," What's in the letter from Viktor?" She blushed again and began stammering something incoherent. Spying Lavender, she got up and went to catch up with her just as she was leaving the Hall. "Wonder what that was about," he muttered to Ron, but Ron, too, had gone.

As Hedwig alighted beside Harry's glass of pumpkin juice, he ruffled her feathers tenderly and sighed, "Perhaps, we're the only ones who haven't changed." He looked up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, cherishing each moment he had in Hogwarts. Hedwig gave his finger a gentle nip and ate his toast crusts gratefully before she soared out of the Hall, and to the Owlery. 

Over his schedule, Harry spied Ginny as she began to bolt through her servings of eggs and bacon. "Hi Ginny! How are you doing?" he asked casually, taking a mouthful of omelet. 

Ginny jumped, startled and looked around the noisy Hall as though to make certain that Harry was talking to her, "Oh, fine!" she smiled, blushing almost to the color of her red hair and knocking over her goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry pretended not to notice and Ginny pretended that it hadn't happened. 

He quickly scanned the table, looking for anything that might be harmed by the spreading juice and realized he had received a letter. Opening the envelope, he noticed that it bore the Hogwarts seal, and rushed to read: 

****

Dear Harry,

Come down to the hut next Friday, around four. I've got a surprise for you!

Cheers,

Hagrid

Harry felt slightly ominous about what exactly Hagrid's surprise was, but he scribbled, "I'll be there." hastily on the back of the parchment, nonetheless. The foreboding feeling lingered, but he ignored it as he read his course schedule, "Damn! Double Potions first…with Malfoy and Snape," he said aloud to no one in particular. 

"How are you doing, Harry?" queried Ginny, moving her arm to cover the spreading pumpkin juice. She winced and hoped that the juice would be dry before her first class.

"Oh, I'm just fine!" Harry smiled, "Look! Someone spilled their juice and didn't clean it up. Your arm is in it." He shook his head, hiding a grin, "Why don't I help you with that?" without waiting for a response he stood up and proceeded mopping up the spreading liquid with his napkin. "Give me your arm," he ordered. Hesitantly, she held out her arm, and flinched almost as though she thought that Harry's touch would burn. Still smiling, Harry cleaned up her arm and sleeve as best as he could.

"Silly of them," remarked Harry with a grin, "Not to clean it up."

"Oh, well," Ginny blushed, looking up at him and smiling, "sometimes people do silly things." 

Harry took a step closer to Ginny. He just realized this was the first time she had looked him full in the face. "Too true," he murmured. 

"Hi, Harry, hey!" called an all-too-familiar voice. Apparently Colin's admiration of him hadn't diminished over the summer. Harry groaned inwardly and looked up at Ginny's face. It was then he realized he was still holding her damp arm. He gingerly put it on the table and began finishing the remains of his omelet. 

"Hello Colin," Harry said, somewhat distantly, in a dull monotone. 

"Hey Ginny! See you in Transfiguration!" called Colin Creevey, making his way over to Harry and Ginny.

Harry remembered he was still staring at Ginny and dropped his gaze. Ginny hastily picked up her book bag and ran to catch up with Colin and they walked together out of the Hall.

Ron and Lavender reentered the Hall and sat themselves on either side of Harry. Lavender opened her mouth to say something, but spotted Parvati and ran to catch up with her. Harry packed up his book bag, and took a heaping mouthful of his ketchup and eggs. Ron cursed under his breath as he peered over Harry's shoulder at his schedule, "Can hardly wait," he mumbled sarcastically, "Yet, we struggle to get on time for a class we can't stand. Ironic, huh?" he asked, giving Harry a nudge.

But Harry was unusually silent.

****

A/N:To clear up where they sat 

**R G/R **

l****Gryffindor Table l** H**

H/L

Top- Ron (first time he sat down), Ginny & Ron (when he returns with Lavender)

Middle- Harry

Bottom- Hermione & Lavender 

From this chappie, I think it's pretty obvious what SHIPs I sail on. ::sheepish grin:: The next chapter is basically a continuation of this one, so you MUST continue reading! It's also shorter, but it seemed too long to conjoin. Believe me there is less flirting and more ACTION! Oh dear, that did not sound quite right…


	7. The Clouds Are Heavy [Continued]

****

Disclaimer: No, I am NOT claiming to own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. So- STOP BOTHERING ME! _::smacks Warner Bros. representative at her door::_ Go away! _::slams door:: _At the bottom I talk about this Fisher King- that info was taken from _The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. _

****

The Clouds Are Heavy [Continued]

__

By Sabrina Clarke and Edited by Fiona Chan

"Your 5 minutes late boys…let's see, why not take five-" he stopped as Harry and Ron flinched, but Snape merely waved his hand irritably motioning for them to take their seats and set up their cauldrons, continuing, "…lacewings with one dash of essence of Belladonna."

Harry and Ron were dumbfounded, in fact, so was the rest of the class. Snape never passed up a chance to take off points from Gryffindor. Harry looked at Hermione seated next to Neville and mouthed, _What's wrong with Snape?_

Suddenly, Neville's cauldron began bubbling with intense ferocity, spraying the whole class with drops of magenta potion. Snape darted forward extinguishing the fire and shooting red sparks from his wand to control the unruly class. Many of the students screamed, burned by scalding drops of liquid. Neville was shivering, backing slowly out of prominence, waiting for Snape to explode at him as he always did. However, Snape merely glowered at the twisted remains of Neville's cauldron. 

No one spoke as he turned to Neville, spitting, "You'll need to get a new cauldron." Neville stood frozen, staring speechless at Snape's retreating backside.

"I reckon Snape's gone mad," muttered Dean Thomas to Ron and Harry, "Why else would he be _nice_?" The bell rang, leaving the class still surprised and somewhat scared as they exited the dungeon as quickly as possible.

"He wasn't exactly nice, he just passed up a chance to be mean," remarked Hermione, walking a bit faster then the drifting Gryffindors.

"Well, that's something for Snape," shrugged Ron. Neville nodded vigorously.

"Maybe he's in love," suggested Parvati Patil as she reapplied her large ornamental butterfly to the end of her plait- it had become askew in the chaos several minutes earlier.

"In love?" Ron sniggered, his eyes still on Hermione, "Maybe he's just happy to have a friend."

"I think he's saving up all his anger and in one day he'll SNAP!" cried Seamus eagerly motioning with his hands, "You never know maybe we can 'unveil the depths of the future' for Snape in Divination." 

Dean and Ron both burst out laughing as Harry imitated Professor Trelawney's misty voice, "I see in your future…alas, death! Wait, no, I see that for everyone!" he pretended to faint, accidentally dropping his inkbottle. 

Dean stopped him from cleaning up the black blots on the stone floor. "Do you see that?" he whispered pointing to the spilt ink.

Harry looked startled. "Erm…"

"It's the Grim, Harry! The Gri-i-im!" hissed Dean and widening his eyes in mock fear. Harry looked up at the trapdoor above him and began to slowly climb up the ladder that led into her classroom.

"Mr. Potter! In your seat, immediately!" scolded Professor Trelawney, as Lavender and Parvati looked at her with admiration and scowled at Harry, Seamus, Ron, and Dean. Immediately, the strong musty odor of the burning incense flooded Harry's nostrils and he felt tired. He sank into a pouf next to Ron.

"As I was saying before Potter, Finnigan, Thomas, and Weasley decided to grace us with their presence…" she stopped and resumed her airy manner. "We will first study the ancient art of the I CHING, then move on to numerology, but I will have to stop our lessons as I will get the flu and your substitute will be ignorant of Divination. Nonetheless, when I recover we will continue on to astral projection…" She stopped and stared at Harry. _No, not again_, he inwardly groaned, "You're going to-" she stopped. He screwed up his eyes and thought, _go on say it, its not I like I haven't heard it before. _"You scar is -" but whatever Professor Trelawney was going to say, she was stopped mid-sentence, as Harry had grown rigid in his seat.

__

****

Harry was in a cavern. Damp, clinging mist hung about the scattered rocks and boulders like an obscuring halo. He slowly stepped into the silent, shadowed unknown. His foot struck something solid- warm and soft.

"Wha-" he uttered in surprise, but he heard nothing. It was an unnatural silence. In quiet- noise exists, but it is not important; here noise was non-existent. 

"Anyone out there?" Silence. Harry's unheard voice became frantic. "Hello?"  
The silence was deafening. A low cry that seemed to pervade from the entire place, called his name. "Hello?" A moan. Shattered silence. Was that Moody's voice? _He will kill you_. Harry once more stepped forward. His foot struck something again.

"Wha-" he bent forward, but everything was swallowed by the ensnaring darkness. It lured him forward. Another moan. Another step. _He will kill you_.

Then he heard Cedric's voice. "Wands out, d'you reckon?" And Harry looked down. Two wide, glassy eyes stared at him- his face permanently frozen into and expression of surprise. _It's all my fault. I told him to take the trophy. _

"Harry Potter…" _I told him to take the trophy._ Two red eyes gleamed in the night. _I told him to take the trophy. _Pale, glowing hands, bearing a wand, emerged in the darkness. Harry didn't move. _It's all my fault. _A flash of green. And all was darkness.

Dudley Dursley awoke, his enormous chest rising and rippling like the incoming tide, with huge gasping breaths.

****

"The Dark Lord is approaching Hogwarts." Harry heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Are you sure?" whispered a voice that nonetheless carried around the empty corridor.

"Now, that the Dark Lord has returned, _he_ must be taken care of." More whispers.

"He's getting old- his health is unstable nowadays."

"Yes. I am quite certain that action can be taken…" Snape paused, "Ah…Mr. Potter." As though predicting his next move, Snape barred the way to Dumbledore's office, looking twice and ugly and three times as stern as the stone gargoyle behind him. 

"Professor Snape, I have to see Headmaster Dumbledore." said Harry, moving around him. Snape sidestepped him and continued blocking his way.

"The Headmaster is busy." Snape's thin lips, curled into a derisive smile. "I think the Headmaster had more important duties then listening to the ramblings of a delusional boy with hallucinations and a headache. See Madam Pomfrey." Snape began to glide away.

"Madam Pomfrey…? No, I-"

"What Potter?" he spat, "Do you truly need the Headmaster to kiss your bruises when you're hurt? _Pathetic_." Severus Snape saw the Potter boy wince. _Ah, he had struck his pride. _His thin-lipped smile broadening, Snape waited for Harry to leave.

Harry rocked on the balls of his feet. He wasn't about to let that slimy git instigate him. Snape's eyes bore into him, they were like to dying embers, releasing burning heat, but dark. Coal black. The color of the fathomless deep. The shuttered windows to Professor Snape's soul. "But Professor Dumbledore told me to tell him if my scar hurt…"

"Very well, Potter. You may speak with Dumbledore." Snape held out his hand, indicating the guarded door, with exaggerated politeness. And with a _swish, _he was gone.

Draco pretended sympathy, "Did ickle Potty have a headache?"

Harry ignored him, but a flash of red in cheeks betrayed his fury. Malfoy smiled and slowly left to catch up with Snape. 

"Mars is bright tonight." The gargoyle remained motionless. Harry cursed under his breath.

"Lucky, for dark nights are always unpleasant?"

"The clouds are heavy?" And the door creaked open.

****

Harry sat impatiently in Dumbledore's office, his beaten up sneakers restlessly kicking at the clawed wooden feet of the chair. Headmaster Dumbledore strode into the room and silently stood in front of the four large windows that opened to the Hogwarts grounds. The clouds hung heavy in the sky, framing the old man in halo of gloom, and illuminating his white beard until it shone. His gnarled hands gripped unto the wooden sill with such ferocity it seemed as though he yet protected the school with his formidable strength. _He's getting old- his health is unstable nowadays_. Harry sighed. _What of Hogwarts when Dumbledore is dead? _

Harry began hesitantly, "Today in Divination, my scar was hurting-"

Dumbledore interrupted, "Yes, I know." He smiled at Harry and for a moment he personified Hogwarts itself. And in an instant the glamour, the power- was gone and he was just a tired old man. He sighed, "You should get back to Divination."

As Harry left Dumbledore's office he was reminded of the ballad of the Fisher King. He heard it long ago- _as a lullaby? _The King dwelt in a castle in the middle of a wasteland; and as the king grew older and his power waned, as did the land fade and become barren. 

Harry muttered to himself, "What of Hogwarts when Dumbledore is dead?" He whispered to himself, "The clouds are heavy around this place and Voldemort is slowly approaching."

And then he heard it- the swish of a cloak.

****

A/N: Wow! Contrast my dears, I've slowly been writing more and more. I thought this bit of _….::looks in vain for a suitable adjective:: _shortness-y stuff would be interesting to the impatient reader. That is, if anyone is reading this fic. _::looks around room:: _Hello? Anyone there? **_R/R!_**


	8. A Storm is Approaching

****

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K Rowlings and any other publishers, marketers, etc…with whom she has entrusted the responsibility of the Harry Potter Trademark. Similarly, Linkin Park and their associates have the ownership to the song lyrics/excerpts below and no copyright infringement is intended by the release of this story.

A Storm is Approaching

__

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

…At the core I've forgotten  
In the middle of my thoughts  
Taken far from my safety  
The picture is there  
The memory won't escape me…  
  
There's a place so dark you can't see the end  
and shock that which can't defend…  
A spot of light floods the floor  
And pours over the rusted world of pretend  
The eyes ease open and its dark again  
  
In the memory you'll find me…  
  
…A little piece of paper with a picture drawn   
Floats on down the street till the wind is gone  
The memory now is like the picture was then  
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

****

Forgotten- Linkin Park (incomplete Lyrics)

Hermione rushed, unseeing, past a group of first years summoning and banishing a beaten up Quaffle rather inexpertly with their wands. Their laughs came intermittently, disturbing the unbound silence with merriment that comes only with the knowledge of safety and utter naivety. A crisp wind blew their robes about, and caressed the dull water on the surface of the lake. On the edge, lining the verdant grounds with an outline of singed gold was the Forbidden Forest. It loomed past the lake and the Quidditch field, casting an ominous shadow on Hagrid's hut, and giving a sense of the true, hidden mysteries of the Hogwarts grounds. While it struck fear into any unlucky first year fulfilling a detention, each brilliant leaf, ranging from a harsh golden to a deep vermilion**,** offered to her the comfort of a roaring fire or a peaceful moment curled up in bed. There she could be alone with the turmoil surrounding her, but not intruding on her inner pandemonium. It was as though a tornado had swept through the meticulously ordered library of Hermione Granger. _Oh, Harry_, she thought, _how can you stride into Potions every day with a smile on your face, knowing that the most dangerous and powerful wizard is after your blood?_

Or the letters. She couldn't get them out of her head either. 

"Now I can stop."

The threats. They never said a word. It was just a piece of parchment with a symbol. No writing. No addressee. Just a symbol. 

"None of it anymore."

Just the Dark Mark. Everyday, it tapped on her window. Everyday, it was on her doorstep. Everyday, it haunted her.

"I can't swim."

Hermione looked up as she just realized someone was talking- a blonde head atop a black, billowing cloak. An approaching storm. 

"Malfoy…" she whispered to the figure standing on the very edge of the precipice that dangled over the iron black lake. 

The lone figure shivered for an ephemeral moment, or perhaps she imagined it, "Yes, my father- Malfoy."

"Your father?"

"My father was a Malfoy." His back was still turned to her and his silver blonde hair tossed in the wind. Fallen leaves drifted aimlessly about him, framing him in a whirlwind of sunlight. Gold. Red. Orange. The setting sun lit the grounds afire, immersing the Hogwarts castle in a crimson, almost unnatural luminescence. He seemed to wait for a response. "The one who walked into a Muggle world leaders meeting and committed suicide- killing every Muggle in the room with him." The spoken words fell from his mouth, but they did not betray his emotions. He seemed frozen or stifled within his icy expressionless demeanor.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Draco's voice was monotonous, lacking any emphasis or inflection- it was dead. Or maybe it was just gone. "His end is mine. He gave me a way out."

"Of what?"

"You being here makes everything much easier," Draco paused, "But I know you hated me. Let them believe I was a Malfoy. I was…" 

"Wha-"

"For a while." He still had not turned around. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the grounds before him, studied the grayness of the closing day, and tried to remember each detail fading with the onset of darkness. It allowed a gentle dotting of stars to shed their faint light upon the waning day. "Granger, I want you to know I never hated you." Draco, at last, turned around and his eyes shone for the briefest of eternities. 

And then he stepped off the precipice.

"I don't hate you either, Malfoy," she screamed, shutting her eyes tightly. And she lied beautifully.

There was no response. 

****

Then she screamed, a cry of fear, emanating and echoing in her mind in a crescendo of decibels.

"Hermione!" hissed a voice, grabbing her shoulders and shaking them roughly. Lavender's hands felt the bones protruding from her skeletal body. She was surprised by how much Hermione had wasted away. _Haven't I seen her every day? _"Parvati!" she cried, "Help me!" On the other end of the girls' dormitory a figure clad in purple silk pajamas stumbled out of bed. Lavendar released her vice-like grip on Hermione's shoulders. Bruises formed where her fingers had clasped at her flesh. _What ever happened to her?_

Hermione's emaciated form tossed in the canopied bed. 

Parvati ran forward and began slapping Hermione's face gently. "Hermione!" she whimpered. Both girls watched as her fists balled and uncurled around a crinkled piece of parchment. They looked down at it with surprise. _Was it a note showing the unreturned love of a long-time crush? _[Why would they think this above everything else?] Both of them exchanged identical looks of curiosity and tried to prize the crumpled piece from her frozen grip. A shiver ran throughout Hermione's body and her eyes snapped open. 

Stepping away and wringing her hands, Lavender stammered, "D-do you, want to-to see-?"

"Professor McGonagall!" Parvati shrieked, in surprise. 

Almost too quickly, Gryffindor's Head of House entered their dormitory. Straightening her tartan bathrobe and carrying a candle, the professor looked extremely miffed as she barked,"It's 2: 30 in the morning, I expect some explana-" _Was that Hermione Granger? _The cocky self-confident girl had wasted away and there she lay, a pile of bones swathed in red and gold blankets.

"Madam Pomfrey will take care of you- oh dear, _dear _what happened?" asked Professor McGonagall wearily and with unrepressed concern. 

As complete awareness settled upon Hermione, the dream came back in flash of sanity and insanity. "I need to see Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor," said Hermione quite clearly. Hesitation was evident on Professor McGonagall's face, but the tight muscles relaxed into weary patience. 

Professor McGonagall helped the shivering girl to her feet and maternally supported her to Dumbledore's office. As much as she hated to disturb the Headmaster at this time, what with owls pouring in at every hour, the complaints, the Howlers, the hexes… She shook her head, and looked down at Hermione. Two dead eyes, gleaming out of their hollow sockets stiffened her resolve.

As they approached the stone gargoyle, Professor sighed, "A storm is approaching," and propped Hermione against the moving steps that led to the Headmaster's office.

****

"Is there anything you want to discuss with me, Hermione?" questioned Professor Dumbledore kindly. "Professor McGonagall has just informed of me the reason why you were up at this ungodly hour."

Tears drew paths down Hermione's pale, frozen cheeks. Without a word, she handed Dumbledore a crinkled piece of parchment. On it was a moving photograph of her home and another sheaf bore the grotesque symbol. Dumbledore squinted and pushed his half-moon glasses further up his crooked nose. Eyes full of concern, he looked up at her sadly. "Difficult times have indeed returned," he paused and weighed the significance of every word he uttered, "for everyone." 

Hands shaking slightly, he handed her a cup of potion, which was still faintly smoking. She sniffed the brew and inhaled its unappetizing odor.

"It is a potion for a dream-less sleep." 

The Headmaster's manner suddenly improved as he said cheerily, "I'll send the house-elves up with a good cup of hot chocolate- plenty of foam. I would recommend a peaceful night**'**s rest, and plenty of food." He raised a bushy white eyebrow and appraised Hermione, "Miss Granger I advise you to take better care of yourself."

Dumbledore, stared at the remains of perfect Hermione Granger, pride of the prefects, poised for Head Girl…he shook his head. Those were the characteristics befitting a Ravenclaw- he and many others had overlooked her air of pride and true bravery. The stubborn tilt of her chin, the bright concern masked by fear, there was so much more to her- and now it all was obscured by a pall of lethargy. The intense, curious eyes were now dulled and each feature, which had emulated her character and very soul…alas, it was gone now- or hidden, "Look in a mirror, m'dear you would be very surprised by what you'll see." Hermione vaguely remembered two arms supporting her staggering form around the school. And she was through the portrait hole. And she was through the Common Room. And she was in her room. And she was alone. 

Lavender and Parvati had, no doubt, drifted into sleep. Their gentle snores filled the girls dormitory, but each unwelcome sound provided welcome comfort. 

She looked at the mirror across from her bed and saw a stranger. The _real_ Hermione- the Hermione everybody thought they knew would have been the one to sniff disdainfully and shake her head at her messy and disheveled appearance. 

However, the _real_ Hermione had been gone for a while now. 

So, _who am I? _She was so tired. _Who am I? _She couldn't keep her eyes open. _Who am I? _She couldn't sleep. _Who am I? _Her mind grew exhausted. _Who am I? _And slowly she began to drift into and uneasy and restless sleep. _Who am I? _

****

"Hermione you look terrible," Ron commented, tactlessly. 

"Thanks, Ron," snapped Hermione sarcastically, pushing away the generous servings of food piled on her plate by Ron and Harry. 

"You look like someone who got woken up by a banshee." Ron frowned slightly and said, "Well at least have some toast or some porridge." He waved a heaping spoonful in front of her face, its tantalizing aromas floating directly into her nose. The smell of the food made her sick. 

Hermione groaned, "Honestly, I don't believe I had any sleep last night."

"You'll wear yourself out with all that work you do."

"I-I…have to…" she waved vaguely at the exit that led to the library and slowly began stumbling away.

"Well, good thing tomorrow's Friday." Harry stated positively. Ron gave Harry a clueless look. Harry sighed, "We're going to see _Hagrid_."

Ron's expression cleared noticeably. "Hagrid, he'll know what to do!" He grinned at Harry with a gleam of hope in his eyes that reminded Harry of the look the twins get when they're planning mischief. 

"I hope so." Harry sighed as he watched Hermione stagger out of the Hall and in the direction of the library. 

****

A/N: I'm rather proud of my dream sequence. Oh, by the way- that bit about Lucius committing suicide- that was done by another FF.Net author called, "Archangela" she's very good and very romantic and angsty- just the way I like my fics! _::pushes reader to read her stuff::_ Go on! She's got excellent fics! She's also REALLY nice for letting me use her idea! R/R, I'll listen to anyone. I really like this fic o' mine- but I could use a little more input. Puh-leeze!


	9. Secrets Tucked Away

****

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Linkin Park. I wish I did. 

****

Secrets Tucked Away

__

By Sabrina Clarke and Edited by Fiona Chan

__

…Fear is how I fall

Confusing what is real…

__

I can't seem  
To find myself again  
My walls are closing in  
(Without a sense of confidence I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)  
I've felt this way before  
So insecure  
  
Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me  
Distracting, reacting  
_Against my will I stand beside my own reflection  
It's haunting how I can't seem-  
To find myself again  
My walls are closing in  
(Without a sense of confidence I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)  
I've felt this way before  
So insecure  
_

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface  
Consuming, confusing  
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending  
Controlling…

****

Crawling- Linkin Park (incomplete lyrics)

A shaking hand flowed across the chalkboard in the complete silence of the classroom. Narrow, flowing words blossomed from her pale hands as the words "Professor Evaline," appeared. Professor Evaline Smethwyk observed the class in front of her with satisfaction. Her eyes were drawn to a small skinny boy with round spectacles. Beneath his messy black hair a thin, lightening bolt scar was visible. _So this must be the Potter boy, Severus' most hated pupil_. She smiled broadly, inwardly feeling revulsion. _I hate children_. _Why did I ever accept this position? _To the class, her face remained emotionless. Her dark hair and the blackboard behind her framed her so that her hands and face stood out like as those of a ghost in her surroundings. 

"Hello, I am Professor Evaline. Since I arrived on rather short notice, I have only the vaguest idea on what you have covered so far." She sighed, "The curriculum dictates that I must show you the Unforgivable Curses, but, as Miss Patil has informed me- Professor Moody…" her mouth tightened into a hard line, "has already covered that material thoroughly." Still frowning, she caught the surprised looks of her class. With an unnerving cheerful smile plastered on her face, she pulled out the roll call. Harry, seated in the last row, distinctly heard her mutter. "I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking," she snorted, "Exposing fourth years to the Unforgivables." 

"Brown, Lavender." she called out clearly, her strong voice reaching into the deepest corners of the room. The class was silent. "Miss Brown?" she repeated. Her head whipped to door, where the sound of running feet could unmistakably be heard. 

Lavender ran into the room and collapsed by the Professor's desk, gasping, "Were-werewolf…charms corridor!"

"Follow me. Wands out. If you detect any movement immobilize." A fly buzzed unto her desk. Flicking her wand with practiced ease, she shouted, "Stupefy!" and the fly halted and fell, motionless to the floor. "Like so." _I hate flies_.

Lavender led the way to Filch's broom closet in the Charms corridor. "It's-it's in there." she stammered, backing away.

"Stand back class. Observe how I deal with the creature." she stepped forward and shouted, "Alohomora!" which echoed dismally in the narrow, empty corridor. The walls constricted her. They were closing in-

"Professor…"

It was a blur. It was blackness. Eyes gleamed in the darkness, slowly advancing out of the shadows. A voice that only she could hear, whispered, like a knife that swiftly found her heart, "What fate awaits you?" she couldn't breathe. Slowly, wands flickered on. They were little orbs of light that surrounded the extremities of her vision. 

"Professor, I don't see a werewolf."

She snapped out of her reverie, her slender hands trembling in her thin robe pockets. They emerged, groping blindly; further and further into the impenetrable unknown. The fingers were frozen into a grip, quivering with untamed tension. She stepped forward. _I must destroy, that whom has destroyed me- _

She fell to her knees, and her grip loosened until, with a clatter, the wand fell out of her grasp. A flash. "Professor…?"

"A boggart." muttered the Professor, clapping her hands and getting the attention of her slightly perturbed class.

"Professor!" cried Hermione, raising her hand and waving it energetically. "We already covered boggarts."

Professor Evaline raised a dark eyebrow, "Then this will be a bit of review for you."

She smiled and barked, "For all of those who allowed the information to leak out of your minds- the spell is _Riddikulus_." Some students strode forward confidently, while others shrunk into the farthest corners of the corridor. She looked at her role call and cried, "Longbottom!" Neville stepped forward. "You first!" An image of Snape appeared in front of them, striding towards Neville with a murderous glare. A smile appeared on his sallow face and the end result was so unnerving the whole class retreated slightly. The students watched with bated breath. What would Professor Evaline do? "Now Neville, I don't see what is so frightening about Severus." her voice carried no menace or amusement; it was a heavily-hung statement, "Neville…?"

"Ye-yes?"  
"Try not to make him look _too _ridiculous." 

Neville gave her a hesitant smile. Snape reappeared in a black monochrome leotard, his normally pale face powdered and done up heavily in highly contrasting stage make-up- he was a mime! He appeared to be pulling on an imaginary rope. The whole class roared with laughter.

Professor Evaline clapped her hands brusquely to regain the attention of the hysterical crowd. "Alright who next?"

"Me." said Harry resolutely, pushing to the front of the throbbing crowd. There was a collective gasp. 

With a pop, Snape disappeared, replaced by a sweet-looking, middle-aged witch whose face was obscured slightly by the flickering wand light.

Harry heard the laughs of several people in his class, as the same thought rippled from incredulous student to student. _So_ this _was the great Harry Potter's worst fear?_

Then the boggart spoke- words that fell like lead from her indistinct mouth. Each word felt like a weight pushing him deeper into the ground. He felt like he was in a full-body bind, "Harry Potter?" A nod. "I am Mafalda Hopkirk of the Improper Use of Magic Office." She withdrew a sheaf of parchment and read from it, "Harry James Potter, you are under arrest and will be escorted to Azkaban for the second-degree murder of-" A collective indrawn breath.

"RIDDIKULUS!" but Harry's scream could not block out Mafalda's next words.

"Cedric Diggory."

"Riddukulus!" cried Harry, waving his wand about desperately trying to ward off the approaching boggart. "No, it-it's not true I-I…" His wand fell from his hands. _No…No… _He shut his eyes. He reached out and felt a cold clamminess envelop him like a Dementor…And then he heard screaming…

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He opened his eyes. All was silent. 

Professor Evaline cleared her throat and gave Harry a strange look, "Who next?"

Ron pushed Hermione forward- she grinned back at him in a bemused sort of way. A self-confident smile was evident on her face and she strode forward, pulling out her wand…

"The Dark Mark!" someone cried. Neville fainted. 

Harry's mind drifted to that day at the Quidditch World Cup…she certainly hadn't seemed as afraid of it then. But now, she lay crouched in fear, backing away from the hovering symbol. She raised her wand, which was shaking in her sweaty grasp, and stammered, "Ri- Ri- dikku-ku-lus." Nothing happened. The fact that she failed seemed to destroy any resolve she had built up. 

She heard Hagrid's voice echo in her head, _An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do_, she remembered how she had flushed with pride, but now the words seemed to her meaningless- empty. And she felt so unworthy; as warm tears coursed down her cheeks and glowing skull shed its aberrant light around the darkness of the corridor. The last vestige of comfort and protection from the outside world had disappeared. She had failed. 

****

"Ron, wake up!" whispered Harry; shaking Ron roughly by his striped paisley pajamas. Ron snored. Losing all patience, Harry pulled off his blankets and began beating him with his pillow. He stopped; the room was silent with the occasional snore. Apparently, his fellow Gryffindors were just as heavy sleepers as Ron. He poked Ron with his wand.

"What's going on, Harry? S'all dark…" groaned Ron finally awakening. He staggered out of bed, rubbing his eyes repeatedly. The second he had regained his balance, Harry pushed him down the dormitory steps, in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room. "Wha-"

Harry's voice was urgent, "Look in the Common Room, what d'you see? In front of the fireplace?"

"Not this again." Ron sighed, remembering a similar midnight awakening in third year. When he saw Harry's impatient glare; however, he muttered something barely coherent. "Look's like Hermione- s'late, she's probably studying…er…" He blinked twice at the standing figure, "…something. I'm going back to-"  
"Quick, she's coming! Let's go!" hissed Harry dragging a sleepy Ron behind a nearby stone pillar. 

"Great idea, I was just going to s'gest that-," muttered Ron, his voice slurred from tiredness. 

Hermione tied her fluffy pink bathrobe around her closer and shivered as she trudged back to her dormitory. She sighed and ran her fingers through her bushy hair before sliding quietly into her dormitory on slippered feet.

Harry dragged Ron across the deserted Common Room and carefully used a poker to rummage through the ashes. And then he spotted it- a small piece of parchment with several charred bits written in a peculiar shade of green ink. 

"Don't you think Hermione has been a bit off color, recently?"

There was no response. Ron had fallen asleep again. 

***

"I heard you moving around, late last night. What were you doing, Hermione?"

Hermione looked startled, like someone awakened out of a daydream, "I had to do that stupid Potions essay." She said it with such austerity and a lack of conviction, as though she spoke carelessly. 

"And then burn it in the fireplace?"

Her mouth dropped in shock as she felt the outrage well up inside her, _How dare they spy on me? _"You were-"

"Hermione, we're your best friends you know, you ought to tell us what's going on," reasoned Harry. 

Ron approached the table and put a comforting arm on her shoulder. "Listen Herm-"

She dropped her unused fork down with a clatter, "I have to finish that essay. Bye." Shrugging off his arm, she picked up her things and began taking sanctuary in the library.

Ron slid into the now empty seat next to Harry, "So, did you figure out what's up with Hermione?"

"All she said was that she had to finish her Potions essay-"

Ron interrupted, "That sounds like Hermione, you know, always has to be at the top…"

The rest of the Gryffindor table, who was listening, was quick to agree. Adding offhand comments like, "Yeah, I knew it would get to her in the end." or "Maybe she's just tired from all the work."

"That's because none of you ever notice anything!" yelled Harry angrily quickly quieting the chattering table. The entire Gryffindor table quickly quieted down and stared at Harry.

"Listen Harry-" Ginny began.

"No!" Harry shouted. Silence. He lowered his voice slightly and leaned forward, "Don't you see what's happening to her?"

"Why don't we go over to the library and offer to help her with her Potions essay after dinner?" suggested Ron casually, beginning to shovel mounds of corned beef into his mouth.

Dean and Seamus both stopped, their forks inches away from their mouths, "We had a Potions essay?" they said simultaneously with identical looks of horror on their faces.

"No," muttered Harry, frowning, "We didn't." and he got up and left the Great Hall amid whispers. Ron sat still for a moment, and then continued eating his corned beef. 

****

Harry sat outside the Great Hall, leaning against one of the suits of armor. He listened to the cheerful chatter emanating from the Hall and felt angry.

"Harry, I-I've noticed it too." said a hesitant voice.

"You have?" He looked up hopefully and smiled at Ginny.

"She barely eats anything, look at her! Only an idiot wouldn't notice something's wrong."

"The whole Gryffindor table didn't seem to notice." he sighed, "Or care." He stood up and began to walk away.

"Oh, Harry they _do _care, but they just don't know what to do. You seem to be he only person willing to take action." She sighed. "You can't blame them for not doing anything. They're afraid they'll mess up." 

Harry shrugged. 

Ginny continued, "Sometimes people just let their feelings percolate and simmer and in the end, they've waited too long. And whatever there might have been is just…gone. It's an opportunity- lost." Harry stopped and turned around. She looked at him eye to eye, without blushing for the first time. He wasn't sure how this was related to Hermione. 

"Sometimes people don't notice what's so obvious, and just think its normal." Harry said, his voice slowly getting softer. He looked at her once again, taking in every detail of her face and countenance- the cheerful expression of open honesty and innocence sparked with a little bit of mischief reminiscent of the twins. "Which is why the Gryffindors were acting like such prats in the Hall back there." he remarked, resuming his usual volume and tone. 

Ginny shrugged, "Well, Harry...?"

"What?" he spat bitterly. 

"Don't expect too much from Ron. He thinks a lot, but usually waits for someone else to take action."

"Well, Ginny, he should do something." Harry snapped, tersely. "Hermione's his best friend, too!" he face remained thoughtful, "He should care more…" 

She laughed, "Anyway, Gryffindors aren't exactly known for their brains, we're just the heroic ones that fight to the death for anything we believe in!" Ginny punctuated each word with a dramatic sigh or pose, "Always noble! Always true!" She placed both hands to her heart and looked up at the encroaching dusk above her, letting out a sigh. 

Harry laughed, his face clearing up. "Yup, that's a Gryffindor." he said off-handedly, looking at her upturned face. The feeble starlight accented her face perfectly, shadowing some of her freckles and making the others stand out. He decided he liked them.

She remained unmoving and her eyes were still fixed on the enchanted ceiling above her, "Mars is bright tonight." She observed. Then she looked at him, giving him an ear-to-ear smile.

Harry gave Ginny a strange look.

Ginny continued, "Anyway, you've got your own problems." Harry froze. "I know about Cedric…"

A voice called his name. He turned; it was Cho, waving eagerly at him.

"Hey, Cho!" he ran up to Cho and fell into step with her, "Where to, miss?" he said imitating a cab driver and holding out his hands in front of him as though driving an invisible taxi. Cho laughed, but it was quickly stifled. 

Cho suddenly looked serious, "Harry, I- I wanted to talk to you." she paused and carefully weighed what she said in her mind, "I- I've heard… some things…"

Then Harry remembered Ginny. He turned around to say good-bye, "Bye Gin-" 

She was gone.

****

Ron lingered inside the library fingering a book, and listlessly flipping through its brittle and musty pages. He stood, nonchalantly leaning against a sturdy oaken bookshelf and pretending to be engrossed in his reading. He looked so out of place that his presence there fooled no one- he wasn't looking up the habits and lifestyle of the manticore, that was for sure. The book in his hands may very well have been a Blast-Ended Skrewt for all the notice he paying to it. The true reason for his presence sat just on the other end of the shelf he crouched behind, rifling through _A Study of Ancient Runes_ and paying as much attention to her book as Ron was to his. He muttered, "Potions essay, my arse." 

Hermione pushed a lock of chestnut away with her hand. _Such thin fingers._ She rubbed her eyes as they slowly began to shut. Open. Blink. Shut. Open. She covered her face with her hands. Open. Blink. Shut. _Was that a tear? _

She furiously rubbed her eyes. Pulling out a letter, she smiled. _Viktor had a way of making her feel special. Summer would have been perfect if not for those letters_- she shook her head. She wished Viktor was here to call her 'Herm-oh-ninny' although he had long perfected her name. She needed a comforting arm around her shoulder- or maybe just someone to make her laugh. _Why had she been so mean to Ron and Harry?_

As though in a trance, Hermione slowly got up and set out- heading for her little coven in the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps, he would be there.

****

"Harry, I've noticed for a long time what you were talking about. I've really tried to ignore it- I guess I've been trying to keep things the way they were." Ron apologized. "But we really can't do anything until she's ready to talk to us."

****

A/N: Hey people! Can't you just picture Snape on a street corner as a mime? C'mon activate your mental files… R/R! OoOoH! _::reader wonders where all the foreshadowing is going:: _Don't worry, you'll learn soon enough! Mwa ha ha!


	10. Knives and Knarls

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Disclaimer: This story contains elements of previously copyrighted material- namely the Harry Potter series and the band Linkin Park. By the release of this fic I'm not pretending ownership of either of these.

****

Knives and Knarls

__

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

…A constant wave of tension  
On top of broken trust  
The lessons that you taught me  
I learned were never true  
  
Now I find myself in question  
They point the finger at me again  
Guilty by association…

…I want to know the truth/Instead of wondering why  
I want to know the answers/No more lies  
I want to shut the door/And open up my mind  
**Runaway - Linkin Park (incomplete lyrics)**

The sky looked dead, with gray clouds lined in pale blue and a smear of vermilion streaking across the empty horizon. A drop- the tickling caress as it slid down her face. The Heavens seemed to cry with her. It was early evening, but the dusky gloom that pervaded her overcast surroundings made it appear as if it were much later. Hermione went there- to that coven in the forest, although she had no idea why. The very atmosphere felt corrupted by what had happened, or what she had dreamed. _Granger, I want you to know I never hated you. _ Seconds ticked by as she strained to catch the last tendril of her dream. Despite her, it fluttered away into the recesses of her subconscious mind, where it would stay until she went quietly insane in her sleep again. It was all a blur, memory after memory of the other night flashed by, leaving only a lingering feeling of confusion and doubt. 

And then she saw him. He was seated on the very edge of the precipice. Too close - since he couldn't swim. _How did I know that? _

"What are _you_ doing here, Granger?" Malfoy sneered, like a knife through the tentative enclosure of her reverie. To himself his voice sounded alien. It was a sneer achieved with a practiced ease.

Her eyes were like the sun through the trees. It was a faint glimmer of a beacon that had not yet lost hope on a missing ship_. S.O.S, save our souls. _His arm stung from the brand scalded unto his arm. The mark, however, was more than just a surface one; it was a label, a self-judgment of his debasement. 

She took a step back. She expected to see him weak. She expected that he had grown a conscience. Maybe he had, but the Mark and his vows held him in an inescapable clutch.

He was tired. All he wanted was to escape from Hogwarts, just for a little while- to escape everything that haunted him inside. Draco repeated the question with a little less venom and a tinge of weariness. "What _are _you doing here, Mudblood?" _Mudblood. _

Hermione mentally shook herself. _What had she expected? Him to dramatically pour out his soul and collapse in torment and self-disgust?_ She would have loved to see that. "Shut up, Malfoy!" Her words echoed in her head. They seemed rehearsed; like this entire conversation. They were like roles in a play. Roles that they had both gotten sick of. 

****

"Mal…erm…Draco?" His name seemed strange to her when she spoke it. 

"What?" he spat, masking his surprise at the almost companionable mention of his name.

"I'm sorry," She rocked on the balls of her feet and continued, "About your father." Shattered silence broken by a comforting smile.

__

How did she know about my father? He asked himself. _Damn nosy Mudblood_. "Thank you." Draco seemed hesitant. Words out of the norm were uncomfortable. It was untread territory. 

"Malfoy…"

His name again. It sounded like shit when she said it. He felt like the lowest being in the world. _Guilty by association_. He suddenly felt angry, "Shut up, Granger! Just shut up and leave me alone!" A violent storm erupted in his silver eyes, as seething anger brewed within him and settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He needed a source of distraction. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he delved into the layers of fabric- expensive fabric that felt silky to the touch. No wand. Nothing. He cursed his carelessness and impatience. It was still on his writing table, in his dormitory. _Why did I have to be in such a bloody rush to get here?_

Hermione was again startled by his angry response; she felt the resentment escalate inside her. Her building fury tethered her to the spot where she stood, glowering and emanating the fierce rage that threatened to swallow her from the inside out. "Why Malfoy?" Hermione hissed, "I thought you had it all…loads of money…a powerful, pure-blooded family…Pansy to lick your shoes…Seeker of your House team…"

Draco stared at her, confused. But it didn't show. He never showed anything. Deep inside he was a morass of bad feeling, cultivated hatred, and shrouded unhappiness. But to Hermione, he was the same. The same thoughtless first year- a preconceived notion of his father, personified in this pale, blonde-haired boy.

Like a dull buzzing in the back of his head he heard her rambling on. But he didn't want to argue. He was too angry to argue. Draco continued searching his robes for a needed distraction. Something. Anything. His groping fingers struck an object in his pockets- a switchblade. A present from his father. He wanted to fling it into the iron gray depths of the lake, but despite himself his fingers slowly tightened around the smooth ebony handle and traveled up and down the smooth steel, almost lovingly. Somehow, the cold metal reminded him of his Death Eater vows. It made him think that soon the blade would be put to use.

"I'm a Death Eater, now," Draco smiled, "I have to live my life wiping Muggle-born slime, like you, off this planet." His hands continued fondling the knife. He liked the way the handle adjusted perfectly to the contours of his hand. He slowly began examining it. He ran his fingertip swiftly across the edge of the blade. Bright red blood blossomed from his narrow cut. He wiped it on his robes and examined it again. Ebony, smooth with frequent use. The blade was faintly tinged with pink. Nausea descended upon him.

She glared directly at him. His languid eyes had changed to the gray of clouds before a storm. 

"Go to your pathetic little boyfriend, Granger. He can't handle his own problems so he needs an old man to solve them for him?" he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but his words were tainted with cynicism that could clearly be heard.

"Yeah, and your way of solving problems is _so _much better! You're the pathetic one, you've got everything and _still _Harry manages to beat you _every single time_." 

Draco looked shocked and for a moment, Hermione saw a flicker of emotion behind his veil of self-contained indifference. But his scowl returned quickly and her faltering anger returned with its former fervor. 

Hermione scowled, "There's more than one way to skin at cat." Draco raised his eyebrow. Seeing his look, she added hastily, "Muggle saying." _I don't need a lame 'holier-than-thou' lesson, Granger, so go preach to your crippled pet_. "Anyways, Harry and Ron and I are just friends, best friends of course, but nothing beyond that."

"Rita Skeeter said-"

"Rita Skeeter is an _idiot_! Harry likes Ch-" she stopped and mentally slapped herself. _Why did she have to say that? _She decided to divert his attention. "Harry's got a lot to worry about you know."

Draco smirked and ran a long slender finger atop the smooth surface of his knife. Up. Down. Up. Down.

"He told Cedric to take the trophy- which led him to his death, wouldn't you feel guilty?" Hermione pointed an accusing finger at him.

_You think you're telling me something I don't know? The whole school knows about Harry, since that Defense Against Dark Arts lesson_…

"Oh, I forgot- you're the emotionless Malfoy just like dear old daddy."

Draco raised an eyebrow again and turned away from her. _Turn your back on the world that has turned its back on you._

Hermione looked furious. "Listen to me! You-" but the rest was muted as he concentrated on the knife. He simply didn't care. _The blade. Focus on the blade. _"You-!" _Won't that stupid Mudblood shut up? The blade. The handle. The contours. The shape. The sharpness. _He still didn't turn around when he heard her stomp angrily away. A flash. Lightning. The sky opened up with a thunderous crack- pouring hateful tumults of rain. Rain was nothing. He felt the tiny droplets slide down his skin. Chilling him. 

Hermione looked back, and scowled at the glacial calm on his pale face. She turned around and smirked at Draco, "You know your not your father! Do you really want to be like him?" And the unasked question, _Do you want to end up like him? …Cold and stiff. Open gray eyes and a face frozen in the first real smile Draco had ever seen on his father, Good night Lucius…_

In the shadows of the trees, crouched a figure writing in a notepad with strange urgency. She smiled as her long red fingernails ran across the surface of a lock of smooth black hairs. Seeing the girl leave, she toyed with the wand, wondering if she should use it. Hearing a noise coming from the direction of Hagrid's hut, the shadow darted deeper into the veiled darkness of the forest. 

****

Harry and Ron walked down to Hagrid's hut, light-heartedly swapping ideas on Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup. Each laugh was hollow because no amount of revelry could banish the image of an emaciated Hermione, weighted down with worry.

As they reached the door, they paused. _What was rustling the bushes behind Hagrid's hut? _Slowly, they made their way around the wooden cabin, skirting the house, nervously. Harry gasped. The engorged pumpkins of which Hagrid was so proud lay in rotting ruins about their tangled vines. Ron looked at Harry and said, half-jokingly, "Harry, I'm scared."

Harry looked around the garden uneasily, "Of course. I don't know what Hagrid's surprise is either." He picked up a piece of pumpkin the size of a Quaffle and whistled. "What kind of monster could have done this?" Harry heard a rustling coming from the bush behind him. "Whatever it is- it's behind me isn't it?" Harry was afraid to turn around. _Oh damn_.

Ron did not respond. He had his eyes tightly closed and the hand that gripped his wand was slippery with sweat. Harry heard him mumble, "Please don't let it be another giant spider. Not a giant spider…" 

Huge thundering steps shook the ground beneath Harry as his grip slowly tightened around his wand. He turned around and yelled, "_Impedimenta!_"pointing it blindly in the direction of the noise. Silence. He opened his eyes.

Hagrid stood, frozen in his tracks. "Uh…sorry Hagrid."

"S'okay, mate. I'm jus' lucky it wasn' anythin' like instant scalpin'." Hagrid looked slightly edgy and ran his hand through his cropped mane. "Right then! I s'pose yeh bin wonderin' what the surprise is, eh?" He straightened himself from his rather uncomfortable position with a groan and motioned towards his cabin. "Help yerself teh some rock cakes."

Harry and Ron gave him identical strained smiles and politely began nibbling on the edge of his rock cakes. 

Hagrid turned around with three cups of steaming tea and grinned broadly. "C'mon eat up, it's a new recipe from Olympe." He blushed. 

Harry pushed away his barely-eaten rock cake and began brusquely, "Hagrid, we need to talk to you, about Hermione." Ron looked up from his half-finished cup of tea and hastily put the steaming mug down.

"'Righto." Hagrid untied his apron and sat down at the table, his brow slightly furrowed. Ron and Harry looked at each other and exchanged identical looks of frustration, _where should we start?_

"She's been up late at night…."

"…I saw her crying in the library."

"She's not telling us what's wrong!"

"I heard Lavender and Parvati saying that Hermione woke up screaming…"

"You ought to see her- she's nothing!"

"Yeah, she's just wasted away."

"We've got to do something!"

"She's been feeling awful. I don't know what's wrong with her!" 

Harry held out his hand to stop Ron from continuing. "And I found this- she's been burning something in fireplace." He reached into his pockets and pulled out a charred fragment of parchment with a small scribble of …something written in bright green ink.

Hagrid looked very serious. "I dunno Harry. You say you saw her burnin' this," he held up the parchment fragment, "more then once?" he held the scrap of parchment up to the light and saw a portion of the watermark- it was an 'o'.

"I don't know what exactly she was burning, just that I've seen her up late in the Common Room- and that her reasons for being there are lies."

Ron shrugged, "Muggle trouble?"

Harry shook his head. "That wouldn't explain why she's upset over here…"

Hagrid sighed, "Whatever 'tis, it's in those papers she's bin burnin'."

"Bad news?"

"Then why would she keep getting them?"

"Well, if it has something to do with Muggles I can't exactly help…"

"Yeh should try," Hagrid growled at Ron, "I remember a coupla years back…"

"Hey! That was different- that was a _Firebolt_!" They both look to Harry, who had remained silent for some time. He sighed.

"Yeah, I think it's Muggle trouble," Harry paused, "someone's threatening Hermione."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Hey, what was that?" From Hagrid's pumpkin patch, a growling sound came and a splat that showed more of Hagrid's prize pumpkin's were being destroyed. 

"Ah…that would be yer s'prise." Slowly Hagrid opened the door. "Cute little bugger, in't he?"

****

In the doorway was a hedgehog, its nose quivering slightly as he crawled into Hagrid's hut.

"AHHHHH!" Ron screamed, running into the farthest corner of the wooden cabin and drawing out his wand, "Get it away!"

Harry laughed and tossed the remains of his rock cake at it. Before he knew what was coming, he felt sharp claws digging into his thick winter cloak. "Ahh! Get it off!" Sparks flew like tongues of flame at the small darting animal, but it easily avoided his hexes. "_Stupefy_!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the creature, but only succeeded in stunning Hagrid. 

****

Harry Potter was beaten by a knarl.

And Ron was sick and tired of listening to Harry bemoan the fate of his beloved cloak. "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up- visiting Dobby in the kitchens!"

Harry's face brightened at the thought of treacle tarts after dinner hours and began making his way with Ron towards the kitchens.

"Hey Dobby!" Harry cried as he entered the kitchens, but before he could react he felt a tight grip around his waist nearly forcing him back out through the painting entrance. "Erm… nice to see you too, Dobby," he said as best as he could with the wind nearly knocked out of him. Gently as he could, he pried Dobby's thin arms off of him. "So Dobby, how's it going?"

Dobby; however, appeared not to hear this question. He stood agape at the terrible state of Harry's cloak. "Dobby will fix that for you right away!" the eager House-elf cried.

Deftly, he unclasped Harry's cloak and held it out in front of him for all of the House elves to see. There were huge gaping holes the size of a Dobby's head and only thin strips of black fabric held the whole catastrophe together.

"Harry Potter must not expect his cloak back _too_ soon." 

****

Harry had already reached his dormitory when he realized that he hadn't gotten any treacle tart. 

****

A/N: Read and review- you must! ::takes out her magic wand and whacks at the reader::


	11. A Tangled Web

****

Disclaimer: I'm not pretending to be J.K Rowling! I am not worthy! I'm not even worthy to play with her characters (and incidentally to infringe upon her copyrights and the rights of all those she has entrusted to bear the "Harry Potter" name with the exception of that politician who incidentally has the same name)… but I will anyways. What fun!

****

A Tangled Web

__

By Sabrina Clarke and Edited Fiona Chan

__

…to see the world in a dewdrop's gleam 

Or glimpse of the morrow in a wisp of steam.

****

-Lines From an Old Spell

On Christmas, his father, to everyone's relief, used to hex the carolers so they had long learned to avoid Malfoy Manor. The winter silence was deafening. Perhaps Draco needed the annoying din of untrained voices belting out songs of Yuletide cheer to interrupt this monotony. Or perhaps this Christmas spirit was contagious.

Draco halted in front of his full-length mirror. A pale face framed by strands of blonde that fell into his bland, cold eyes stared back at him. He searched the aristocratic nose and porcelain complexion for himself. His eyes, his nose, his mouth - in every feature there was something of his father. _Just like dear old daddy_… _Do you want to end up like him? …Cold and stiff..._and Lucius' unnerving smile that haunted Draco in his dreams… 

__

It was Draco's smile. He wanted someone to reach out to him, through the façade he had built for himself. Maybe, he was afraid that if someone looked past the layers of pretense, there'd be nothing there. He pushed the mirror and turned away from his broken reflection on the richly carpeted floor.

A small house elf peeked its head through the door, "Begging your pardon, Master Lucius-"

"Draco." 

"Oh yes, yes. Of course- of course. Meaning no harm, sir…" apologized the elf, bobbing its head and shaking its huge ears with each bow.

"Leave me alone."

"Yes Mas- sir…"

"Go." he spat, and added quite carelessly, "Oh yes and elf- make sure you iron your fingers today. You may go," as the elf nervously bowed out of the room.

A pop. Pansy had Apparated in Draco's room. She looked at the broken mirror on the ground and pulled out her wand to fix it.

Although Draco had in no way acknowledged her arrival, he raised a hand to stop her.

"Draco, what happened?" Pansy gushed emotionally, as though it was Draco in pieces on the ground and not merely his mirror.

"Redecorating," Draco answered, tersely, obviously in bad temper.

"Ah. Is something wrong, darling?"

_Darling? _As though finally realizing whom it was, Draco snapped with unusual bitterness, "Pansy! I told you to knock first!"

"Aww… Draco-pooh," Pansy simpered, "Where's your Christmas spirit?" Draco raised an eyebrow at her, clearly showing his disdain of the idea of being joyful and giving presents for no reason except for jolly good humor. Pansy, however, was undaunted, "I got you a _present_!" 

"Present?" Draco grabbed the colorful and brightly wrapped parcel from her, with almost childish vigor. Layers of colorful wrapping fell to the floor, revealing-

"Rope?"

"It's called 'Hangman's Rope'," _How cheerful_. "Look, it'll tighten about whatever you wrap it around. If someone tries to sneak up with you… you could even use it for your _Monster Book of Monsters_."

For a moment Draco looked at her is if for the first time, taking in her pug-like face countenance, and huge masses of hair that was so lively that it looked like it was trying to fly off her scalp. "With this- no one will be able to defeat me! Even without a wand I can be all-powerful!" Draco laughed maniacally, and ever-so-slightly hysterically.

Pansy smiled. _Aww…look how happy I've made him. "_Now, read the card!"

_Dear Drakie, (_Draco's eyes widened in horror, _Drakie?)_

I hope you like your Christmas present!

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox,

****

Pansy

_What is _with _all these annoying pet names?_

"Now, where's _my _present?"

Ever-prepared Draco, took only a moment to regain his panache exterior, "Pansy, _darling_, I got you something even _better_." In one swift moment, he drew his hands around her waist and kissed her pretty, but pug-like face. It was passionless and unemotional, but Draco smiled nonetheless, commending himself for his adept handling of the situation. _Oh, I am _so _good._

Pansy smirked inwardly. _Does he _really _think he kisses that well? _

****

"Hello, Hermione," cried two voices in unison, peering down at her while she lay asleep at her desk, he face plastered to her History of Magic essay. She hadn't even changed into her pajamas.

She stirred briefly; she had reached such a state of utter exhaustion, that when she lay down she had dissolved into profound unconsciousness. Harry and Ron's familiar voices grated against her eardrums unpleasantly until they were foreign syllables. Hermione had slipped into lifelessness, and all she wanted to do was lie in bed and hide from her troubles. She dug her head in deeper- she refused to be disturbed. 

"Hermione?" Ron asked. All of a sudden, wakefulness pinched her with the realization, the recognition of his voice, delivering from dreamland and back to the world of the wake.

"Harry! Ron!" she gasped, sitting up with a start- the piece of parchment still clinging to her face, "_What _are you doing here?"

Harry waved a hand in front of her face, "Hello? It's Christmas!"

"Yeah, we missed you," Ron exclaimed, "waking us all up way too early in the morning to hurl presents at our heads!" Ron sighed, "We _need _you to do that. I mean c'mon, it's part of Christmas tradition!"

"Hey! What's this?" Harry said, leafing through a book called, _Quidditch Worldwide- An evolution of the classic sport in foreign countries containing a brief description of their teams and strategies with a 'How-to' for the adventurous Quidditch player_. Hermione had bought that book so that she wasn't an idiot during Ron and Harry's all-too-frequent Quidditch conversations. She hated not being able to have the last word on _any _subject. "I'm telling you, Hermione, if the rest of the book is as 'brief' as the title-"

"It's yours!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly- his words were a guilty reminder that she had forgotten to do her Christmas shopping, "I'm sorry I forgot to wrap it, I've been busy you know..." Her listless fingers gestured vaguely at the pandemonium of papers at her desk and pulled off the piece stuck to her face. Ron cleared his throat.

Another guilty reminder. "Oh- Ron! Yours is in here somewhere…" she rummaged through her drawers (each neatly identified with its own label- Sweaters, Spare Quills and Parchment, Potion Ingredients…). "Here!" Hermione cried, thrusting to Ron an object from the 'Miscellaneous Objects Smaller Than a Quaffle' drawer.

"It's- it's-" _I wish _I_ got a Quidditch book_.

"A Magic 8-Ball," finished Hermione, and continued hurriedly, "You ask it a question and shake it for an answer."  
With a disbelieving air, Ron thought, _Will I get any action under the mistletoe? _chancing a half glance at Hermione_. _He shook the ball, and peered into the tiny window. It read, _Hell, yeah_!

"I love this thing! It's like…" Ron struggled for a word, "_Magic _or something."

"Or something," Harry shared a half-grin with Ron, looking at the creased spine and slightly dog-eared pages of his 'new' book, and giving Hermione her present. "Merry Christmas!" 

Ron thrust a clumsily-wrapped parcel at Hermione. "Yeah, here…" he muttered, distractedly, giving the Magic 8-Ball another shake. Hermione held both of her presents in her hands with a guilty air. She watched as Harry eagerly flipped through the obviously not-new book and as Ron repeatedly shook the nicked plastic ball that had known better days. _There is _no _way I deserve you guys_.

As they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, Ron gave Harry a wink over Hermione's head, "Are you feeling better, Harry?"

Seeing his none-too-subtle cue, Harry coughed. "Er… worse. I think I'm coming down with -_cough_- erm… something. I'm off to see Madam Pomfrey." He collapsed into fits of coughing. Hermione raised an eyebrow. _Harry always was a terrible liar._

Ron pretended concern, "Yeah, Harry that Pepperup Potion is in short supply- you better _go get some_. Like, _now_." He glared a message so clear it could not have been more obvious unless it was written on his face_, Harry if you screw this up, I will hunt you down_. Perhaps, Harry saw this or perhaps the lure of Pepperup Potion was too strong, but he sped off quickly, leaving Ron and Hermione alone. The portrait hole of the Gryffindor Common Room slammed shut.

Ron paused to open it, taking perhaps a little more time than strictly necessary. Offering his arm to Hermione, he said, "Shall we?" With a rather stupid smile, he looked pointedly up at the mistletoe that dangled above him, this time holding out both of his arms, and repeated, but in a slightly different tone of voice, "Shall we?" 

Ron blushed. Almost as embarrassed as he, Hermione inclined her head forward and pecked him rather quickly on the mouth. He didn't have any time to react. In fact, for several seconds he stood there as though still awaiting her kiss. _Stupid Magic 8-Ball_.

****

"Hermione!" Parvati called, running up to them. She gave her a nudge and a wink to which Hermione didn't respond. "So…" Parvati gave Harry and Ron a look that said, whatever she wanted to say she didn't want to say in front of them. Without complaint and, if truth be told, rather grateful they left.

"I saw this article- I thought it might interest you- er, Harry. Apparently for reporters, old trends die hard. Here's Rita's legacy-" she handed Hermione the _Witch Weekly _and added rather ominously, "and _ouch_."

Hermione rejoined Harry and Ron who had patiently waited. She suspected that they stayed for more _their _sake then hers, but_, oh well…It's Christmas_.

Through the open door of the Great Hall Harry, Hermione, and Ron could hear the din of the Hogwarts students eating and talking with the animation of Christmas vigor. Hermione looked anxiously over her shoulder.

"Parvati said there was this article about you in here." She coughed, "If you…erm, want us to read it before, you know… Just in case-"

Harry's scowl clearly told her what he thought of that suggestion. Peering over Hermione's shoulder, Harry read in a whisper, "…According to anonymous sources… Death Eaters in training are given assignments… Several months before they commit the crime, they torment their victims… If the task is not performed satisfactorily or by the appointed time, the initiate is either killed or sent to Azkaban on fabricated charges… Legal process needs reform to prevent corruption within…wait, what does this have to do with _me_?"

Hermione tutted and pointed to the article on the opposite page.

****

A "Match" Made in Heaven

By Kate Risete

The Boy-Who-Lived has learned to survive through his typical teenage troubles by taking solace in his new girlfriend, the half-Muggle Cho Chang. Cho Chang is the former girlfriend of the late Cedric Diggory, a former attendee of the _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _who died under suspicious- and to this date unknown- circumstances associated with the young Potter, who incidentally has a history of mental instability. 

Coincidentally, Cho Chang plays the Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team at Hogwarts, like Harry on the Gryffindor team. However, _this _illustrious journalist ("Illustrious? I've never heard of her," Ron muttered. "That's obviously the Quick-Quotes Quill talking, Ron," Harry snapped.) believes that there may be _more _that attracts Harry than their mutual Quidditch talents. Perhaps, Harry needs a bit of added insurance in his next Quidditch match (Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw) that will determine which team will enter the final match for the Hogwarts House Championship. Or, as the research of my famous contemporary, Rita Skeeter, has shown- perhaps he merely looks for women of impure parentage, as seen with his previous girlfriend Hermione Granger (a Muggle-born whose personal charms are nonexistent) to banish his reputation of hating Muggle-borns. 

This notoriety was created during his second year when he was accused of Petrifying several Muggle-born students attending Hogwarts and is further supported by his unabashed hatred for his non-magic caretakers. Records in the _Improper Use of Magic Office_ show that he has a history of illegal use of magic - namely he used his abilities to "blow up" his Muggle aunt. 

The parents of the lovely, Oriental girl declined comment.

Ron whistled. "Sounds like she's got it in for you, mate."

"Who is this anyway?" Hermione snapped, "She sounds like the annoying Skeeter woman."

"Don't have much luck with reporter's, eh?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's face, which had gone oddly slack. "Harry? You there?"

"I'm not going out with Cho," he replied levelly.

Ron shrugged, "I never said-"

Harry continued, voicing Kate Risete's implied thought. "Where the hell did she get the idea that I even liked her? Great, now Cho's going to think that I'm some Muggle-born hating bas-" 

"Harry!"

"Who killed her first boyfriend just so I could move in and boost my reputation."

"You're absolutely right, Harry," snapped a voice and the next thing he knew was he felt a stinging blow numb his cheek. A crack. His glasses had broken. And from the feel of it- his jaw had too.

Through blurred vision, he saw tears glistening in Cho's eyes, "I- I tried not to listen to what they were saying, but-" she collapsed in her friend's arms. 

A whispered word of comfort, "It's okay Cho, it's okay… I warned you about Harry…" Harry's head snapped up and he knew who this was- it was the fifth grade girl he had point-blank refused to take to the Yule Ball in fourth year. _Damn._

"Cho- the article- it-it isn't true…" 

"Do you love me?" she whispered in deadly calm.

…_On the smooth Chamber floor…, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair._

"Ginny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Ginny - don't be dead- please don't be dead-" He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was a white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be-

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side… How odd that Harry should think of Ginny- now of all times-

"Yes." Harry turned away from Cho and dropped to his knees to search the floor for his broken glasses. He heard her swish away. He wanted to stop her- to say_- if she stopped, what would I say?_

He heard footsteps approach him and a kindly voice break through the snickers. "Here you go, Harry." He reached out blindly for his glasses. Ginny laughed and clasped his open hands in hers and put his glasses in them. "Oh! They're broken!" she muttered, quickly fixing them, and placing them on Harry's face. _I'd say, Cho- I love Ginny._

"You know what? I just realized something," Harry remarked straightening his glasses and focusing on the grinning face of Ginny Weasley in front of him.

"Oh really? And what's that?" 

He bent and whispered conspiringly, "No one knows this but- I don't love Cho." Out of the corner of his eye, he checked her countenance for a reaction.

Ginny looked surprised and a little flattered that he was confiding in her, "Why not?"

"Because…" he paused, purely for dramatic effect, "I'm already in love with you." Spying Ron and Hermione ahead he ran and caught up with them and called back at Ginny, "See you at dinner!" Ginny didn't move, but her radiant smile was threatening to stretch off the sides of her face.

****

The Yule Ball came and went. To Hermione, it was a tedious affair. Small talk smattered with triumphant looks from her "fellow" schoolmates. She could hear their unhushed whispers. Viktor Krum, Quidditch player extraordinaire came queuing up to be her partner. So when the next ball came and she rejected some of her fellow Gryffindor's, people expected a likewise dramatic entrance, with a set of equally resplendent robes. _Too bad for them_. Hermione felt no regret. So it was only to assume that the sideways glances were those of pity from her friends and amusement from her enemies. 

"Look, it's the Mudblood- all _alone_," simpered Pansy in her false high voice. Hermione knew that Pansy's voice was easily deeper than Goyle's, but she kept that knowledge to herself. _Better that the pathetic Slytherin keeps her own secrets_.

"Drakie. Let's get some punch." She flounced past the wallflowers, Draco trailing ungracefully behind her. Seeing his crisp robes wrinkled by her iron grip and his usually immaculate, but typical slicked back hairstyle in disarray, Hermione felt the beginnings of pity for him. In uncommonly high spirits, Hermione mouthed, _Good luck, you'll need it_, to him. Draco gave Hermione a hopeless shrug and resolutely followed his date. He turned around again and mouthed, _Save me_. 

It was then that she saw an approachable, vulnerable boy- stripped of his pride and arrogance, leaving only pink embarrassment and a pathetic half-smile that was uniquely his. His eyes were like two twin evils in a complicity- to allow a moment of weakness- of curiosity. She felt something that connected from deep within, and then he looked away, and the moment was gone, like candle doused in a gush of wind, and everything came fluttering back into place. Despite herself, her gaze lingered on his retreating form- _hopeful?- _that perhaps he would turn. 

****

It was Arithmancy again. Hermione had learned to hate it. Her thoughts always seemed to roam to Draco in Arithmancy. The assignment that she needed to be done was finished in its 2 ½ roll glory. _How dare Draco say that about Harry? _She nearly screamed aloud with frustration. _No, think about something else. _Think about Harry. Think about Kate Risete. _How did she know about Cho? _Harry obviously hadn't told and it was only Ron and she who actually heard Harry admit to liking her. She stopped. She had told Malfoy. She bit her tongue with rage and shut her eyes tightly against the sneering face that plastered itself on the walls of her mind.

"Miss Granger, there will be no sleeping in my class." 

She opened her eyes. "Sorry, Professor Vector." 

****

A pea rolled across the Hermione's plate. The fork drifted aimlessly around the plate- roaming, but with no particular purpose. _Should I tell him? _

_"Hey Harry! Guess what- I told your enemy that you liked Cho Chang and that's why she hates you now!"_

She winced. _Better that he didn't know_. Thus convinced, she prepared to enjoy her meal. _It wouldn't do him any good, anyway_.

Harry entered quickly, plopping himself down into the empty seat next to her, "Hey Hermione! What's up?"

"Oh! Not- not much!" Hermione squeaked, quickly collecting herself. "What about you?" Her voice had nearly returned to its normal pitch. Nearly. She mentally smacked herself. _I sound like Colin Creevey going through puberty_.

"Me? Not too much. I failed my Divination test. I knew I would."

Hermione grinned, "You should get extra-credit for predicting your test grade."

He laughed, "Not like I '_foresaw_' it or anything- I just haven't been doing too well since I gave that old bat a piece of my mind." Harry shifted uneasily, "Looking back I regret that now…" Hermione was torn between esteem and disapproval. Guilt; however, came with a vengeance and held her tongue. _'Rita Skeeter is an idiot! Harry likes Ch-'_ Hermione had stopped in the nick of time. _Or had she? _But she refused to accept the blame. _There are plenty of girl's names with the first syllable sounding like 'Ch'- like…well, that's not important._

Seamus and Dean, approaching the table, both laughed, "Yeah, but it sure was funny!" Peering angrily above their latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ with a scowl, Parvati and Lavender quickly shut them up. 

"Hey where's Ro-. Ron! Hey how's it going?" Harry smiled broadly, offering Ron a treacle tart. Ron, trained by experience borne of living with Fred and George, refused. He knew a false 'jaunty, winning' voice when he heard one. Hermione, looking up from her wandering peas, sensed trouble.

"Cut the crap, Harry," said ever-oblivious Ron with a grin, "What's up?"

Harry, sensing that Ron was itching to shovel in the Shepard's pie in front of him, quickly got to the point, "Ron I- I like Ginny. I mean I _really _like her- and she knows that." 

"Your kidding. My _little _sister?" Ron started laughing hysterically.

The way Ron stressed 'little' nettled Harry. "It's not like_ I'm _a giant over here…" 

Something in Harry's voice made Ron stop laughing. "This is my _little _sister." Harry shrugged. "This is my little _sister_." 

Harry shrugged again, "It's not like she's _my _sister."

Ron ignored that and snapped, "What about Cho?'

"What about her?"

"You like her." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron continued. "You like her. You have liked her. And just one hour ago you told her that!"

Harry choked on his Shepard's Pie. "I guess I was wrong, then." 

"No- no. I don't think you were. I think you still like Cho, but now that she hates you, you're thinking, 'What the hell? Why don't I go and tell _little _Ginny Weasley that I like her and-"

"Why would I do that?" Harry was yelling now.

"To get Cho jealous. To make people forget about that stupid article. Because you just wanted to mess with my sis-" People began to stare.

"Why can't I like Ginny?" Harry shouted, pounding on the table. 

"Because she's the same Ginny she was six years ago and she's had a crush on you since then! And the minute she seems to be moving on-" Hermione tugged on Ron's sleeve. 

__

Hermione cut in, sensibly, "Ron- I'll bet you're sister's happy and isn't that the most important thing?" But she might as well have tried to reason with her glass of pumpkin juice for all the notice that he was paying to her.  
"So what?" Harry yelled, and taking a deep breath, he lowered his volume down almost to his normal voice, "I really-"

"-You wouldn't even give her the time of day!"

"Hi Ginny!" Hermione screamed, and, as intended, stopped her two fighting friends.

"Uh, hi…" _Why is everyone looking at me? There's something between my teeth isn't there? _She self-consciously ran her tongue over her teeth.

"Harry? What's going on…"

Ron turned from red to purple. _Go ahead, ask 'beloved' Harry. Don't ask your own _brother.

Harry shrugged and looked at his new watch - a Birthday present from Hermione, "It's 6:47 right now." He shyly brushed his lips against Ginny's cheek and then walked away.

Ron was fuming, but allowed Harry to go away unscathed. He merely took out his wand and surreptitiously poked the tart, muttering, "_Finite Incantatem_." Noting the edgy looks from his fellow Gryffindors, he grinned falsely and laughed, "Just in case." before popping one in his mouth. 

****

Even without Fred and George, the Gryffindor Common Room was a disorganized and loud place; with third years playing Exploding Snap and a small group of fourth years and a couple of seventh years Hermione didn't recognize playing Wizarding Chess, but throughout the Common Room was a feeling of perfect contentment and utter chaos. Unbelievably, they liked the room as it was, with its air of disorderly comfort and barely controlled pandemonium. 

Thus was the setting, when Hermione entered. She was less-than-surprised to see Ron and Harry seated at opposite ends of the Common Room. Hermione could feel Ron's gaze on her as she uneasily walked in Harry's direction and the slam of his _Unfogging the Future _book showed clearly what he thought of _that.  
_"Hey Harry." A nod. "Mind if I borrow Hedwig?"

"Uh…yeah, whatever…" Harry muttered distractedly, poring over his History of Magic notes. Suddenly, he exploded, "You'd think that being _someone's _best friend would include some sort of _trust_. I mean we've been saving each others asses for ages-"

"I'm not getting in the middle of this." She jabbed a finger in Ron's direction, "Talk to Ron. That's right, Ron, you. I know you're eavesdropping with a Listening Charm so you might as well talk!"

First, there was the slamming of a door. As she was not in a particularly good mood, and quite a few things felt the brunt of her wrath, but, in the end, she was comfortably lounging in front of her desk with a quill and torn piece of parchment chewing on the former and doodling on the latter. 

__

Hermione was certain she had not imagined it. That brief flash of- ? His eyes, they had been like mercury, the emotion behind secreted in the secluded sections of his soul. And then, for one moment- Hermione had seen something. Something that she could never endeavor to explain, but it mesmerized her. And now it- whatever _it _was- emblazoned itself on her senses, and it haunted her thoughts like some dreamy pestilence. 

__

Perhaps, he was a victim of circumstance? She shook her head. _I'm the victim here, but_- She couldn't help but wonder, _perhaps_-? 

Her arms had meanwhile been operating quite separately from her mind, they had drawn several flowers which adorned the parchment so that it verged on flamboyant. She ripped them off and suddenly with that abrupt gesture, her whole inclination of thinking shifted drastically. She scratched out the customary 'Dear' that she had already penned. _I'm just kidding myself; I'm just being nosy_. And that was good enough for her. 

I could help you if you would let me. 

-**H**ermione

****

__

Why?

-**D**raco** M**alfoy

****

__

Because you don't want to end up like your father.

-**H**ermione

****

"Over-confident Mudblood." Draco Malfoy took her latest letter, crumpled it up and threw it over his shoulder at a wastebasket, where it missed. He scorned her help, but in the deepest recesses of his being, he knew that in that brief moment, Hermione had learned more about him than Pansy had in all those years of Hogwarts. The thought rather alarmed him. 

Pansy. He supposed she loved him. _But was she in love with the same person Narcissa had fallen in love with twenty years before? _Another alarming thought. The same idea of power, wealth, and prestige that personified the name Malfoy, and perhaps had his father. But not him. Not Draco. 

As he grew older, his father had been the epitome of everything he had hoped he could be someday… Now he wasn't quite sure it was worth it anymore. To die with no one to mourn him. To live a sadistic life of… undignified _servitude_- knowing that he was following a campaign where subterfuge and fallacy are the cornerstones. That uncertainty, that minute, but crucial flaw in the delicate structure of his beliefs was ceaseless in eroding at his sanity. 

Draco pulled out the length of rope that Pansy had given to him. It could be used to bind his _Monsters Book of Monster _book- true, but that look she gave him had been unmistakable. She knew that he would use it, now that he-

His arm stung. He ignored it. Voldemort knew that Draco could not be expected while he was at school. After all, all pretenses must remain. He ran the rope lazily through his fingers and let it curl loosely around his arm. Slowly it tightened, like a boa constrictor strangling its prey- tighter and tighter around his wrist. A pink tinge appeared on his fingertips. 

It was starting to get painful. His hand swelled. _How was he supposed to get this thing off? _"_Engorgio_," he muttered. The rope doubled in size giving him enough room to quickly slip his hand out. "_Reducto_." With a muttered curse, he massaged his wrist and moved his fingers tentatively, feeling a faint stiffness in his normally dexterous hands. It still hurt. It could destroy a life. A harmless-looking piece of rope. He slipped it into his pocket. It troubled him slightly that Pansy believed him capable of murder- she knew him better than anyone-

_If she knew me better she would have gotten me a _Broomstick Servicing Kit. While it would have been easier to let a House-Elf to take care of his broom, Draco was content to tone each twig to perfection himself. It was the same satisfaction he took in a job well done for his master. 

His master. He hated the way the words made him feel; weak- subservient to someone who was just as human as he. His only match was Dumbledore and- Potter.

It maddened Draco that he _served_- that degrading word again- under a man who was consistently beaten by Potter, but who was considered stronger than Draco himself. '…_You're the pathetic one, you've got everything and _still _Harry manages to beat you every single time_…' and at the look she gave him, he had nearly lost it. How odd that her words should have struck him more than the frequent reprimands of his father. '_How could you let a Mudblood beat you in every class and a half-blood on the Quidditch field?_' Had he known what a record sounded like, let alone a broken one, he might have compared her mocking voice to one, but to him it was merely annoying. '…_You're the pathetic one, you've got everything and _still _Harry manages to beat you every single time_…'

_If I'm a Death Eater, I'll never be able to beat Potter_.

And beating Potter was so important. More important than killing him. More important than cleansing the world of Mudblood-slime.

Then there was the Mudblood. She planted the seeds of doubt in his destiny. She calmly walked into his life and put everything into a whirlwind and his formerly undisturbed, but distorted ideas of pureblood superiority lay in pieces on the dusty floor. '…_You're the pathetic one, you've got everything and _still _Harry manages to beat you every single time_…'

He was so tired of being beaten.

Something on her face as she had studied him had made him catch his breath and grin stupidly like that besotted Weasley. It was as if someone had seen him for the first time. Her eyes had communicated a flood of emotions that left him questioning even himself. It wasn't even the first time either.  
He couldn't explain it. In that transient second she had been able to accomplish what no one ever had dared. She had reached him.

He cursed again. Draco hated circular thinking. Hated wasting time. Hated Potter and his posse of Gryffindor do-gooders. Hated the way that in the early hours of the morning Crabbe and Goyle's snores would wake him up. Most of all, he hated how he started off thinking about Hermione and had ended up right where he started. Hermione. 

He cursed. She even possessed his thoughts. 

"I need Pansy."

He stood up from the Slytherin Common Room sofa, and approached the cackling, fireplace that erupted in brief blasts of vermilion. Bending down, took the poker from the floor beside the glowing hearth, and began poking it around the burning coals that had been left aflame. _A House-Elf should be doing this_. 

Suddenly, he stood up and resolved to leave the fire to die. The glowing embers slowly siphoned their heat and light away into the bleak surrounding of the Common Room, but each coal was waiting- waiting for the moment when a light would be struck and the fire would burn again.

****

Throughout his body there was a dull aching pain. It was a vague, obscure tremor that left him weak and fearful. The acute and painful pulsating was like the rapid flow of adrenaline, or the pent-up expectation of the inevitable-

He was so weary.

"Severus?" a frail voice broke through his reverie, "I can't teach on Monday…"

Selfish thoughts of his well-being vanished as though a well-placed Obliviating Spell had been set upon them, when he beheld Evaline Smethwyck. "Is there anything wrong?" His fathomless black eyes darted rapidly, surveying her, measuring her and for a moment the shutters of the windows to his soul were open, revealing-

_Severus was fearful_. "No, nothing's wrong…" but her frail voice declared otherwise, "You will be teaching in my stead…won't you?"

"Yes. No one else wants to take the job." For the briefest moment his eyes glinted, and he shared a look that spoke volumes with Professor Evaline.

"I was wondering why it was so easy for me to get a position, in one of the most notable magical schools in the world…"

Snape smirked. _I always was proud of my jinxes_.

She lowered her face so that the sunlight shone upon her jet black hair, giving it the dull, artificial shine of shoe polish. "You'll be teaching Potter's class, I'm sure…"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes." _Not that I'm glad about that_.

"Tell them about the Green Flame Torch."

Severus had never heard of such a thing and would have suspected a joke, had he known that he and Professor Evaline had a strictly enforced code of professionalism. To conceal his ignorance, he asked instead for a reason, "Why…?" 

Professor Evaline obviously had no intention of answering his question. She merely leaned forward and kissed him, and had she kept her eyes open she would have seen the expression of surprise on Severus Snape's face.

"Professor? Ernie's been hexed…" Severus and Evaline broke apart hastily. It was Hannah Abbot- that damn Hufflepuff gossip. She had no more brains than that pathetic Longottom and a mouth that moved so fast, her feeble brain had little or no time to premeditate. _This will be all over the school by tomorrow_.

"Nevermind. Not important." she smiled mischievously. _No doubt we gave the Hufflepuff _plenty _to talk about_. Twisting her finger in her hair, she still remained standing at the door. "You can continue, you know…" _Forget tomorrow. Try- by dinnertime._

"OUT!"

Snape crossed his arms and the resolution in his gaze formed an almost tangible barrier between them. "Why?" he persisted.

Evaline avoided his question- in a moment she was weak again. "Tell them- everything you know." She winced. Out of the corner of her eye, she gave him a brief glance. However, her features were so indistinct and indiscernible that her countenance could have been anything from tender to calculating.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…nothing…" But her the sound of her unsteady footfall on the stone floor retorted otherwise in mocking echoes. Snape stared anxiously after her, and slowly walked to the library to learn everything he could about the Green Flame Torch. If he was going to lecture he had to be prepared to answer any questions from that annoying Granger girl. That would mean a whole night's worth of research. He sighed.

Throughout the night he operated on autopilot and seriously began entertaining the thought that this was a joke and that Professor Evaline had set him on what she knew was a fruitless search. Every passing minute brought him closer to acquiescence, until he came across a tome, a leather-bound volume of almost decrepit condition and incredible age. _This book should be in a museum, not a library_. His long fingers impatiently turned the aging pages of the book with little expectation of finding anything. A whole nights search and nothing. Severus was disgusted with himself. And he struck gold.

__

"…the Green Flame Torch was originally mentioned in the Grecian tale of Jason and the Argonauts. Though not by name it is reputed to be the magical device that Theseus was given by his magical lover to defeat the plague of the Athenians - the minotaur. Muggle stories and the ruins at Knossos have confirmed as much that the sorceress Ariadne did use some magical means to defeat a being that any mortal of non- magical capabilities could not defeat.

The torch has the ability to stun all evil within its brief light, killing some, and striking hope into the courageous and true of heart- who are the only who may touch the torch without the burn of its flames. Those of guilty conscience, heavy heart, and murderous mind may not have the power it bestows. Despite its name, the torch shines in blinding, green light only when it is held by someone true of heart with a noble purpose, but is otherwise white.

Since then it has been mentioned sparsely through Muggle literature. During the Arthurian times, Merlin managed to procure it in hopes of uniting it under one "holy symbol", but the nearly blinding light only convinced the knights of the Round Table to search for it, since they believed it to be the "Holy Grail" of their God. No doubt the unearthly singing of Merlin's phoenix also instilled a feeling of chivalry in the aging warriors. The only verified facts of its existence remain in the highly useful "Camelot, A History" a partly autobiographical, partly documentation of Arthurian life, written by Merlin- who no doubt foresaw the importance of the age of toleration of magic which he wrought to the modern day magical community. 

_The last recorded usage of the Green Flame Torch was to kill the infamous vampire, Count Dracula (whose exploits are even reflected; however fallibly, in Muggle literature)- although local legends have mentioned it several times since then. Appearing as an unearthly light, it has been much sought after as the ultimate defense against lethifolds, dementors, vampires, and other beings of malevolent intent._

Snape stared. The conclusions were unmistakable.

****

"Disgraceful, mate."

Dean whistled. "Damn," he muttered, shaking his head sadly at the gruesome photo of the remains of a poor wizard on the cover page of the _Daily Prophet_. "At least _Avada Kedavra _was clean."

"Any ideas on how it was done?"

"Nothing was found except the Dark Mark, courtesy of You-Know-Who." Hermione took a steadying gulp of pumpkin juice. It was times like these when she wished that when she went to King's Cross Station there was nothing between Platform 9 and 10; that everything she believed, and been led to believe over her last six years of her education never existed. Sometimes she wanted to be ignorant- blissfully unaware of the fearsome- the terrifying living her life as a naïve little Muggle. She shivered.

Dumbledore stood up suddenly and beckoned the teacher to follow him out of the Great Hall. He had a copy of the _Daily Prophet _in his hand.

Once they had all comfortably seated themselves in the teachers lounge, Dumbledore stood up, silencing the anxious, hushed chatter with a sweep of his hands. 

Severus opened his mouth to talk, but once more Dumbledore silenced him with a look.

"Times have worsened," said Dumbledore, "He's brought out the Hounds." There was the sound of a collective indrawn breath. "And another thing," he said, pulling out a magazine and pointing at a small article in the corner of the first page. Silence.

****

A/N: For all intensive purposes Harry is more nearsighted. No, Draco won't be nice forever- the Christmas spirit was getting to him, okay? No, I didn't forget that I said that Lucius was dead. Oh by the way- there are plenty of girl's names with 'Ch' as the first two _letters _(Christine, Chrisanne, Chrystal, Charlene…), but not as the first _sound_. I know it's not like Harry to go and kiss Ginny out-of-the-blue like that, but we know he really wanted to piss Ron off. Also, the reason why Harry realized so quickly that he liked Ginny was mostly because of Cho's rejection. I don't plan on H/G having a superficial relationship. If you wish to be notified of when I update this or my other stories, subscribe to the "If You Wish To Be Notified When I Upload…" Thread on my Review Board at 

****

My D/Hr Songfic! 


	12. Rain, Rain Go Away

****

Disclaimer: Harry Potter- don't own it; don't pretend to. So don't sue me!

****

Rain, Rain Go Away

__

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

Professor Snape raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore. "I see. The _Witch Weekly_, Albus?"

Dumbledore's face colored slightly under his cloud of fluffy beard. "I just get it for the recipes, Severus."

"I'm _sure_."

"Oh, just read the article!" McGonagall snapped irritably.

It was "_A Match Made in Heaven" _by Kate Risete. Several teachers followed suit with Professor Snape and raised their eyebrows, heavy with suspicion and skepticism.

Snape was quick to dismiss the article. "Should Potter want to spread the details of his love life to the magical community…" Dumbledore frowned. Despite this, Snape continued, "All he needed was an opportunity."

McGonagall cut in impatiently, "No, Harry did not." Snape snorted derisively. "You may doubt me, Severus, but should you read the article you'd know it portrays Potter in a less-than-heroic view." 

"It makes him look like prat if you ask me," piped in Professor Sprout, scratching her head.

"A total jerk," agreed Professor Sinistra with a nod.

Professor Trelawney whispered, her eyes wide and slightly perturbing, "I have seen a woman! Perhaps a man-"

Minerva McGonagall hastily cut in, "Thank you for the clarification, Sibyll, that narrows it down considerably-"

"And red! Blood-red…" She trailed off on her own accord.

McGonagall let out, what might have been a sigh of relief, but someone in a generous frame of mind might have deemed it disappointment, and she continued as though Professor Trelawney had not spoken, "If a half-wit reporter can enter Hogwarts and learn this information…" Professor McGonagall's voice grew fainter, with repressed anxiety.

"Dumbledore, how?" 

"It is a mystery to me-"

Flitwick stood up on his already elevated chair. "Should we make an announcement to the school saying that if they see-?"

"Really Filius, we have pictures lining every corridor, students up at all hours- despite what we tell them, ghosts roaming about, and teachers patrolling the halls…"

Professor Vector agreed, somewhat reluctantly, "We wouldn't want to scare the students unnecessarily…"

"They already know to be on awares…"

"What must we do?" 

Dumbledore inwardly sighed, people always expected him to pull a miracle out of his hat.

Dumbledore pulled out a teapot from his fireplace and poured a quantity of glittering powder in his right hand. He held out his left and allowed a weak, but steady, trickle of sand to fall into it. Vague ideas somersaulted throughout his mind, forming a mess and tangle that only a pensieve could undo, but as he watched the grains fall, one idea surfaced and emblazoned itself over all of his other thoughts, _Time is running out_.

He shook his head as an applause of thunder echoed in the distance. 

The storm approached slowly, biding its time in the distant horizon, _But it will be here soon_. _Are we ready? _Dumbledore looked out and saw little hope; the lightening was swift and fearful and did little to illuminate the bleak scenery. As he stood there, elucidated by the brief flashes, perhaps even Voldemort might have seen the mastery in his gaze or the solemnity and grim outlook in his countenance. However, to the staff of _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_, he was just a tired, old man, watching his dreams- and all his hope, fall to ruin.

****

"I hate mornings."

It was early and Ron sat at the crowded Gryffindor Table nursing a cup of tea. Partly because of force of habit and mostly because he wanted to knock some sense into Ron, Harry plopped himself into the empty seat next to him. 

Ron looked up from his tea for the first time that morning. He did not join in the regular discourse of morning greetings and instead asked, "Where's Hermione?" Ron peered up and down the mostly empty table, "She's normally already up and studying at this hour."

Dean and Seamus shrugged.

"She's been sleeping in a bit later these days," Neville remarked carelessly, taking a mouthful of French toast.

"Can't say it wouldn't do her any good," Seamus added with his first frown for the day. "She always looks so tired." 

Lavender, just stepping up to the table, leaned over and pecked Seamus on the cheek. Harry watched with amusement as Seamus turned bright red faster than a traffic light. He sipped his pumpkin juice.

Ginny slowly sauntered in, her nose glued inside a copy of the _Witch Weekly_.

"Morning Ginny!" Ron cried, "Hey, you can sit here!" he added, jumping up and vacating his seat next to Harry. Although nothing was said aloud, Harry knew this was Ron's way of apologizing for acting immaturely. 

He grinned.

****

Professor Evaline Smethwyck strode into class in the best of moods. Her life seemed a little more hopeful. Then there was Potter.

He strode in like he owned the place with the ever-present and inevitable Weasley glued to his side like some red headed appendage. His friends all seated themselves around him, but he and the Weasley boy remained standing to give a note to their bushy-haired friend. The bell rang. Evaline smiled to herself.

"Potter. When the bell rings, you will be seated. _Accio_!" she snarled, flicking her wand at the harmless piece of parchment. "_And _there will be _no _note-passing in my class." Silence. 

It was quickly broken by a whisper. With paranormal eeriness Evaline quickly pin-pointed the guilty Gryffindor. "Granger- I will see you after class." It gave her some pleasure, seeing the total transformation that over went Hermione Granger's face. _Although, being a best friend with Weasley and Potter, she's probably been chastised before- reckless rule breakers that those two are. _She continued, "Today I will show you the finer points of dueling and the Shield Charm which is helpful against-"

Another whisper from Potter's corner of the room.

"Potter! Weasley! Friday, next week you have detention with me." 

"Bu- bu- but-," the Weasley boy was sputtering, looking more stupid that usual.

Harry was aghast, but at least spoke in discernable English. "Pr- Professor there must be some mistake. Next week is the Quidditch match against-"

"Potter- I don't care if your against the godawful Chudley Cannons, next Friday I expect you to test some of the charms-" Harry's face brightened, _if Flitwick was in charge it wouldn't be so bad_. Evaline noticed this and took particular joy in spitting out the next words, "-that Madam Pince has put on the library books."

Harry gulped. Madam Pince was known for the unusual hexes on the books in her care. So it was not a very happy Harry, who stood up and strode out of class, after the bell rang.

"Just _wonderful_. It's that time of month for Smethwyck and I get detention with Madam Pince," Harry muttered in an undertone, looking at his watch and walking a little bit faster to his next class, Transfiguration.

Ron sneered, "Don't you mean Professor _Evaline_? She acts all nice and all of a sudden she gives you a detention. _And _she insulted the _Cannons_."

"Yeah, what's with that?" Harry growled, holding on to his Transfiguration tighter than was strictly necessary.

"I know! I can't believe she _insulted _them!" Ron took Harry's sigh to be one of anger and disappointment with the Defense Against Dark Arts teacher. 

Harry rounded a corner and smacked into someone.

He clapped a hand to his forehead, "Damn! What the hell-" He abruptly stopped. It was Rita Skeeter. Just what he needed- a headline that read: "_Harry Potter: Pint-Sized Potty-Mouth._"

"Rita Skeeter- what are _you _doing here?" Harry spat, not bothering to mask his disgust.

"Oh, hello Harry," she said pleasantly, as though she and Harry were old friends and meeting him was a pleasant surprise. "Even without me, you can't manage to keep out of the presses. You seem to have caught the attention of one _particularly illustrious _reporter." She smiled in a feral way as she resumed hurrying down the hallway as Harry massaged his forehead. "_Head pains _I'm sure-" 

"Why can't you fu-" Ron coughed and nudged him, "leave me alone?"

Rita stopped in her brisk walk. She stared at him.

"You didn't answer my question."

She continued walking as though he had not spoken. Harry was no threat to her, for all his bravery, she knew that the pen- in this case the "Quick Quotes Quill"- was much mightier than the legendary, prepubescent hero. And a truly skilled reporter, by the name of Kate Risete, knew the full, unchallenged power of the press.

Rita intended to take advantage of that. 

****

"Illustrious? Wait-" Hermione held out her hand, interrupting Harry's narrative, and frowned. "She said that- you're sure?"

Ron laughed. "_I _wouldn't use a word like that, that's for sure."

Hermione pulled out the infamous issue of the _Witch Weekly_. 

Harry cut in hastily, putting out his hand in a preemptive gesture and casting a quick look around the nearly empty Common Room, "I've seen it already- once is enough thanks…"

To her true form, Hermione ignored him. "Look, Kate Risete uses the same adjective- 'illustrious' to describe herself. That's odd…"

"So she read the article and likes to quote her bovine chums-"

"Well, you said yourself that you haven't heard of her-" Hermione suddenly stopped and stared at Ron, "Her _what _chums?"

"Uh…bovine? C'mon you're supposed to know these things- it means-"

"I know what it means!" Hermione snapped. She gave a half-glance at Harry.

Ron added in an undertone, "It means 'cow-like,' just so you know." Ron grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way.

"_I_ knew that," Harry said quickly, looking at Hermione oddly.

"That's not the point!" Hermione snapped irritably. "Anyway, you saw Rita here right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well there hasn't been anyone else who could be a reporter hanging around, and all the information in the article is pretty conclusive. Someone _inside _Hogwarts had to find out-" She stopped suddenly. "And look! She even _mentions _Rita!" she whipped out her wand and pointed to Rita Skeeter's name where it was quoted in the article, "Hey- what's this-? Risete- that's not a very common name is it?" Harry and Ron shrugged.

"Well look, it looks like it ought to be spelled with two t's or something. And Kate is common as a name by itself, but it's usually short for Katherine or something, right? I don't think reporters are supposed to- or would want to- use nicknames, unless it's obvious- I mean they want credit and all that stuff- And…" Hermione suddenly got a look of intense concentration on her face. She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down the name 'Kate Risete' and next to it wrote 'Rita Skeeter'. Harry and Ron were baffled. 

"Look there's one 'a' in Kate Risete and one 'a' in Rita Skeeter." She crossed out both a's. "Okay, and there are two 'e's in both names, too." She crossed all of them out. "And here 'i' and 'i'." She proceeded scoring through all the letters in both names in alphabetical order until both names were completely crossed out.

Ron furrowed his brow. "You're saying that Rita Skeeter and Kate Risete are the same person?"

The incredulity in his voice irritated her and immediately her voice became combative, "Well, why not? Rita wrote all this bad stuff about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; you know how _she _is. He's probably after her. _Then _I've got her little secret," Hermione grinned. "But she still hates _you_, Harry. And so does You-Know-Who. So she writes all this stuff to get her revenge on you _and _gets on You-Know-Who's good side."

"Assuming he _has _one…"

"_Then _there's her name- I mean that's a pretty big coincidence- even if it _is _just a coincidence."

"Yeah…"

"Don't you see? That explains how she found out all this stuff about you and still is safe from You-Know-Who and- well- _me_." Ron could tell that Hermione loved saying that. 

She suddenly leapt up. "I'll see you guys later!"

Harry and Ron were exasperated. "Where're you off to?"

In one fluid and oddly graceful movement, she swung her book bag spinning quickly and having her huge masses of hair float and drift around her in a sort of bushy halo. As her hair settled back to its comfortable position on her shoulders, Hermione replied, "The library," as though this was the most obvious thing. Ron, looking back on that moment years later, knew it was. "See you at dinner!" Hermione hurried down a corridor. While she was in no rush, she was still wasting time. Useful time, so she thought it best to-

"Eek!" In one cataclysmic moment, she was on the floor, surrounded by drifting parchment that had once been her carefully organized notebook. Now it floated around her like some industrial-size snowstorm. 

"Oh, _look _at this bloody mess-" 

"_Granger_, my ears." Hermione said nothing, but she lifted her eyes to the Heavens and prayed that in the end she might be saved from prats like-

Malfoy pulled her off the floor and before another word could be uttered, he swiftly gathered together her papers. _I stand corrected_. This is was a possible first for Hermione Granger. 

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't." And he left her alone, leaving her papers neatly piled beside her and her emotions in utter disorder. 

Solitude gave room for thinking. Thinking gave room for Malfoy. How had he, in that one moment, been able to capsize every fundamental belief she had? That one gesture- picking up her books and pulling her off the ground. _He should have laughed. He should have kicked me when I was down. But he didn't. He gave me a hand and picked me up_. She responded eagerly to that straightforward kindness. 

She was like an addict- she desired it to sustain her and there had been a serious deterioration in her simple needs. Harry was wrapped up in Ginny- she wasn't jealous of the love they had for each other, but she was jealous of the fact that their love left her alone. And Ron- well, things with Ron were awkward. There was something there that wasn't there before, and it made conversation difficult. She needed to be rejuvenated- she needed kindness, even the rare and unexpected sort. Oddly enough, her fount has taken resident in her enemy. The direct insults had long stopped, with the reticence that came with maturity. True- it was a far cry from love, especially the kind of devotion Hermione sought, but- There had been something else. Something that had distinguished himself from his name. Some extra- something lacking. Something special. _It's up to you Malfoy_.

_I'm forgetting everything. Everything that was said and done between us because of a moment- one moment when you lifted me from the ground… I think you smiled._

I don't think I've ever seen you really _smile before._

****

Harry looked at his schedule. "Well, we have Care of Magical Creatures next."

"Oh joy."

Harry gave Ron a playful shove as they trundled past the greenhouses. "Lighten up, Ron. I mean we get to see Hagrid."

"I like seeing Hagrid. It's just the murderous creatures that Hagrid owns that I could do without." 

Harry sighed, "Why can't we take care of something-"

"That doesn't think 'mmm…lunch' when they see our faces?"

Seamus interjected, "That enjoys long walks by the beach, and moonlight dining?" Silence. "I was just kidding." Ron shook his head. Seamus persisted, "I was just kidding!" Silence.

"All the same, I wish we could take care of something-"

"That's cute, cuddly, soft, and has a pink nose!" cried Neville. The Gryffindors stared at him. "We could take care of puppies!"

Dean shook his head sadly, "This is 'Care of Magical Creatures' class, Neville- not obedience school."

"_That's _what they call Muggle schools!" Harry didn't bother to correct Ron.

As they approached they heard- it was impossible not to hear- a wailing sound that sounded something like someone beating up a cat with a violin.

"A'right! Settle down class! I got a big s'prise fer yeh!" There was a collective cringe.

"It's a banshee!" Seamus cried, turning pale and crouching behind Lavender Brown.

"Don' be silly, Seamus. Banshee's're frankly dangerous. I couldn' do that ter a whole class."

The Slytherins snickered.

Hagrid gestured vaguely at the cages behind him, "Does anyone know what these're?"

Hermione's hand shot up and without waiting to be called upon she answered promptly, "That," she said with some distaste, "Is an Augurey." She took a deep breath, "A bird, resembling an anorexic vulture with green and black plumage-"

"Tell us something we don't know, Granger!" snapped Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione threw a dirty look at Pansy, but continued as though she had not been interrupted. "-that incidentally repels ink. It's very shy and is only seen during rain, and otherwise is found only in its tear-shaped nest of bramble and thorns. Its cry is distinct because of its low and throbbing sound-" 

"Can't you get it to shut up?" snapped Malfoy, putting his dragon-hide gloved hands over his ears. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike assumed Malfoy meant their over-achieving classmate, and not the wailing birds. Hermione looked put out. 

"_Why_? Why, Hagrid, why?" whined Parvati Patil, on the verge of hysteria.

Hagrid apparently misunderstood the nature of this question. 

"Some folks say that th' Augurey's sing before death."

All heads swung in Harry's direction, as though some mysterious puppeteer was impelling them to face him. Harry looked away and began whistling. Too bad he couldn't really whistle.

Hagrid, seeing their reaction, hastened to amend his statement, "Codswallop, in _my _opinion. _I _think they sing when it rains."

"What _brilliant _birds!" Draco exclaimed, sarcastically, "Was it the dark rain clouds overhead or the rumble of thunder that tipped them off? What _useful_… things! I can _definitely _see why someone would want to take care of one of _them_!"

Hagrid was no genius, but the sarcasm in Malfoy's voice couldn't have been clearer if the words, 'Yes, Hagrid, I am being sarcastic,' were written upon his face. He growled, "Malfoy… I'm warnin' yeh-"  
A flash. Lightening. The sky opened up with a thunderous crack- pouring hateful tumults of rain on the already unhappy students.

"Class dismissed!" Hagrid cried to the grateful students. "Malfoy yeh'll stay after an' help me put away these cages."

Harry and Ron looked guiltily at an increasingly wet Hagrid trying to get the cages, with the wailing flapping birds inside his hut, but if they were early for their detention there was always hope that Madam Pince would be merciful and let them leave with all their limbs. So before Hermione could reproach them, they ran off. Hermione was not in favor of getting wet and listening to wailing, but her conscience tugged at her to help him. _No need to nag, I'm going, I'm going._

She muttered, "_Mobiliavis_!" to the first cage with a resigned air. 

Providence was apparently in a merciful mood and, as quickly as it came, the rain stopped and the rest of the cages were packed away in relative silence. Hagrid was put out that his lesson had ended so quickly and unpleasantly. Hermione was a mess- her already bushy hair would be nothing short of frazzled by the time it was dry. Malfoy was sopping- his expensive robes were soaked through and his hair was uncharacteristically messy. Conversation would have been out of the question.

So it was a dripping Hermione who made her way as gracefully as she could, under the circumstances, but who felt cleared in her mind that she had done something good. _Ron and Harry will _so _get hell from me about this_.

Plop. It was raining again. _If it was anything like before- it'll come down in a sudden downpour_. Plop. Plop. Plop.

She sprinted to greenhouse three and shut the door, just as the deluge came- a huge torrent of water that came pelting down on the glass roof. Pulling out her wand, she thought, _I might as well start charming my stuff so that they repel water-_

With a bang, another bolted through the door and tried to shut the furious gusts out that pummeled the door with nature's fickle fury. It was Malfoy. She put her wand back into her pocket.

Not in the best of moods, Hermione muttered, "God, I hate this rain. And I hate you, Malfoy," as though somehow the storm was the result of the pale, blonde-haired boy before her. "I can't believe I'm stuck here until this lets up…" she moaned, looking at the relentless downfall.

Draco remained undaunted. "We both know you could have charmed your robes to repel water." A lambent gleam had entered his eyes, daring Hermione to say something more.

"So could've you." _Stalemate_.

No reaction was discernable from either's countenance. They stood together somewhat uneasily, in tentative silence. In his typical abrupt manner, Draco broke the awkwardness with a shattering phrase, "Now that we've both realized we're here because we want to be here and not because of this rain why don't you tell me what you think we should do?"

Hermione sat on a nearby bench. "Why don't we just talk?"

Draco was silent for a moment. _I can leave, and the daily grind of insults can continue. The same thing. The roles that we've both gotten sick of- but were so experienced at. Just like before. _Still undecided, he remained standing. "Okay… what do you want to talk about?"

Hermione tipped over her hat and a sizable cascade of water poured out. "Definitely, not the weather." 

Amused, Draco moved not a single muscle except for the one that moved his left eyebrow, which rose, slowly and sardonically and- he laughed. It had been a long time since he laughed. It was odd. She was odd. She was young, as old as he was, but she seemed so naïve because she possessed that indefinable quality they called innocence. She was so different in that way- her own person, and all the more captivating because of it. 

He sat down.

They sat for several moments in companionable quiet. 

Draco hesitantly broke it again, "So Hermione…" He realized his mistake after he had said her name, but it seemed so natural- as though he had reached a comfort level he hadn't even achieved with Crabbe and Goyle even after many years of friendship. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

She looked at him oddly and averted her eyes, "You called me Hermione."

"And here I was, thinking that it was your name-" He smacked his forehead in mock consternation.

"It's just that… you've never called me that before."

"_Granger _then."

"No, Hermione's just fine." She gave him a shadow of a smile and hastened to add, "It's better than _Mudblood_-" 

"Oh _please_, that was _so _first year," Draco snorted, doing an uncanny imitation of Pansy.

"And second year. And third year. And fourth year-" 

Draco pulled out his wand and prepared to charm his cloak.

Right on cue, Hermione asked, "D'you like the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher?"

"I guess. She's nice and everything." He suddenly sounded distant. "I seem to know her from somewhere, though."

Feigning innocence, Hermione responded, "Right. Does she have a secret desire to torture Muggles, too?" 

"What would a stupid Mu-"

Hermione pulled out her wand and put it between his eyes before he could even realize what was going on. "Don't make me use this."

At her sudden movement, he flinched. The memory of the slap stung his pride more than it had ever hurt him. He was affronted, and moreover surprised to find himself in a rather precarious situation. "You know- you'd be really good at dueling, if you tried it-"

Hermione beamed. "Really? You think so?" To Draco, it was obvious she was fishing for a compliment.

"Yeah," Draco said, half resentfully, "You're good at everything." Hermione smiled in a satisfied sort of way, and he could almost see her ego inflating like a balloon. "Except Quidditch." The balloon popped.

Hermione retorted, "This from someone who couldn't catch the Snitch if it was the size of his ego and hovered around him like Crabbe and Goyle." Draco scowled, and Hermione, seeing that, quickly amended, "You're still good, though."

Draco was still sore and snapped, "I don't need _you _to tell me that," and the implied, _You don't know anything about Quidditch, anyway_.

Hermione hated that. "I mean the way you did that…" Hermione desperately searched for the name of a Quidditch move, from _Quidditch Worldwide - An Evolution of the Classing Sport in Foreign Countries Containing a Brief Description of Their Teams and Strategies With a 'How-to' for the Adventurous Quidditch Player, _"You know…that Porskoff Ploy."

Draco smiled indulgently. "I _was _wonderful, wasn't I? But I wonder what I was doing-" he paused, wholly for the theatrical effect, "Doing a _Chaser _diversionary tactic- when I'm _Seeker_." Hermione was horrified. "Perhaps I could help you? You seem a little _confused_." Draco loved saying that. "There's a great book- _Quidditch Worldwide - An Evolution of the Classing Sport in Foreign Countries Containing a Brief Description of Their Teams and Strategies With a 'How-to' for the Adventurous Quidditch Player_- believe me; its shorter than the name implies. The title is pretty much self-explanatory-"

"I could be an _authority _on Quidditch," Hermione sniffed, "if I cared enough. I read _all about _the best kinds of racing brooms, various international teams-"

"Forget what I said before. The only way a book can help you become a better flier is if you attach wings to it and fly it. Good luck." 

Hermione tossed her head in a way that particularly infuriated Ron. "I bet _you _didn't know that wizards and witches were flying broomsticks as early as-"

"A.D 962." Draco laughed again_. _"You know what? You think too much, you…_you_…" He shrugged. He just didn't have a single mean thing to say. For the second time in his life, Hermione had robbed him of his sarcastic humor, the first time being the Yule Ball. And he was further disarmed.

Hermione laughed, "I'm supposed to be offended by that? Oh c'mon, that was really pathetic."

Draco looked at her full in the face and gave her a hint of a smile. "Maybe, insulting you isn't so important to me anymore." He paused, "Maybe it was never really important to begin with." _It was fun though. I do so love being evil_.

"_Maybe_, just maybe," Hermione paused weighing her words with uncharacteristic deliberation, "I can learn to forget…" _That was so cheesy_. Interrupting herself impatiently with decision, she said, "Okay," she shrugged, "That wasn't hard. Your crimes are forgotten- now get out of my face you Malfoy slime, before I have to use it to-"

Draco quickly covered her mouth with his hand, not even registering her contact with him as unclean. "Stop talking. You're giving me a headache." He looked at the sky, which had long stopped raining and then quickly glanced at his watch, "Dinner's soon. Let's go."

****

Before entering the library, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair; as much as it annoyed him, he couldn't imagine what it would be like without it. _All I can do now is cross my fingers, hope for the best, and trust in Madam Pomfrey's Mediwizard skills_.

Ron gulped. "I hope by the end of this night I still have all of my fingers."

Harry hesitated before pushing open the door. "You know Ron, we're going to look back on all this and laugh."

"Yeah- at each other, once Madam Pince is through with us." Ron pushed open the heavy oaken doors to the library with a resigned air.

"Well, at least we're early. That'll tip the scales in our favor."

They needn't have bothered. Professor Evaline was overseeing their detention.

"I was just doing some last-minute researching and thought I might drop in on your detention," she said pleasantly. "Don't worry I'll leave once Madam Pince arrives." Ron nodded coldly as he treated every anti-Chudley Cannons advocator with the utmost suspicion. This, unfortunately for Ron, was most of the school. He always had to be on his guard.

As Professor Evaline drifted among the bookshelves behind them, they seated themselves at a nearby table. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, "Hey Harry, listen, you know I never did apologize for being such a prat about…you and…Ginny."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "It's ok, Ron. Forget it."

"Still, before anything is final with you guys-" Ron grinned, but it quickly turned threatening "-I want Cho out of the picture."

Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, "I know, but…"

"Listen- my sister isn't going to be _second_-_best _to anyone, not even my best friend. I wont stand for it." Ron winked. "She won't stand for it either. We Weasley's have got more than red hair in common with us. Beware the Weasley temper." Ron wagged a finger under Harry's nose.

"I'll- uh… keep that in mind."

****

"I'm glad that's over," Harry sighed, stretching and rubbing his sore joints as climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room. "Madam Pomfrey said it'll grow back."

"The stinging sensation under my skin is getting better." Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust Madam Pince to give us a hard time."

Looking at his watch, Harry sighed, "Nine o'clock- so much for Quidditch practice."

"How _did _Rita found out about Cho? Could she have just Apparated here-"

Ron began, "You can't App-"

"You _can't _Apparate on or to the Hogwarts grounds, _how many times do I have to tell you?!_" shrieked Hermione from behind them, loosing all control. 

"Well, they have to still be on the grounds to know this stuff…" Harry looked edgily at Hermione and took a hesitant step back. "We're not even sure if it was Rita. Someone could have been telling her all this crap."

"Hey!" Ron said excitedly and they mounted the steps that led to the Gryffindor dorms, "We _have _a way of finding out if people who don't belong here _are _here…" the corridor was empty, but he lowered his voice nonetheless, "We can check the map right?"

Harry's face lit up, "Yeah! And then we can follow them and figure out where they're off to!"

Hermione looked alarmed. "Wha- what? Following mysterious people- in the middle of the night no less! This person could be much more than just a reporter you know!"

Ron and Harry both smiled with anticipation and turned around as though she hadn't spoken. "Anyway, we'll check every night-"

"-And when we find them we can use that balding charm I used on Pansy Parkinson last year-"

"Instant cue-ball or instant scalping or something?"

"Yeah!- and-"

"Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley! You leave this tower after hours and I'll- I'll…" her voice faded as she quickly searched for an option. "I'll take points away from us!" She pointed an accusing finger at them, "D'you want to be responsible for losing say- _fifty _points from Gryffindor?"

Harry and Ron's jaws dropped simultaneously. Hermione smiled, seeing that she had made an impact on her two friends. _I love being a Prefect_. Hermione tactfully resisted the urge to laugh maniacally. _Time for that later._

However, when Ron and Harry closed the door to the boy's dormitories their faces broke in identical grins. After checking around to make sure they were completely alone, Harry opened his trunk and pushed aside his most valuable possessions almost carelessly in search of the map. He sighed. It was half an hour later, and even with half a dozen magical compartments- the tattered piece of parchment could only be in so many places. 

Ron scowled, carrying Harry's prized possessions and dumping them back into the trunk. "So where is it?" 

Harry shrugged, his forehead creasing and his mouth tightening into a thin, hard line. The Marauder's Map was nowhere to be seen.

****

A/N: Also, to clarify something, I think that Draco honestly loves his parents, but as his father committed suicide in the middle of a Muggle World Leaders meeting, I think that he's just afraid of having the same fate. So, no he doesn't hate his dad. Also, should he decide to disagree with his father's beliefs, that doesn't mean he doesn't love his father either.


	13. Two Part: Whistling in the Dark Return ...

****

A/N: This chapter has two parts, "_Whistling in the Dark"_ and "_Return to Sender_"- they're both really related to each other so I decided to keep them together. That is all.

****

Disclaimer: I've gotten sick of writing these. I don't own Harry Potter. Leave me alone.

****

Part One- Whistling in the Dark

__

By Sabrina Clarke and Edited by Fiona Chan

__

Trapped inside of your eyes,   
gleam like stars above, emptiness inside.   
Caught inside of your arms,

warmer than the sun, never felt so full.   
  
…I still run behind everything.   
I don't understand, I embrace every thought,   
every word...everything…   
  
Left behind hateful thoughts, overwhelmed by your mind,   
lost in time again.   
Shadows bringing me down, jealous of your face,   
drowning in your awe.   
  
You're watching, my heart being, so close to you,   
your bleeding thoughts…   
You're my everything, you're my everything...   
The truth brings new meaning, your my everything,   
and time stands still.

****

Still - Rufio (incomplete lyrics)

His fiery spirit seemed to have burned out, only to be replaced by raging anger. _She's going to see someone. I hate him. Whoever he is. _In fact his hatred was entirely blown out of proportion. Hermione, no doubt, deserved some of his anger as well. Ron laughed at himself, but it was without merriment. He was blaming everyone except for the person who deserved the lion's share of the blame. Himself.

__

This is insane, whoever said love was simple deserves to be locked in a cage with Aragog. Ron shivered at the mental pictures that followed this thought.

He turned a corner and walked a bit further, not really seeing where he was going- not really caring anyway. He looked up; his footsteps had taken him to the Gryffindor Common Room.

He approached a window on the far side of the Tower and allowed the harsh, winter wind to brace his senses before shutting it behind him. The stars blinked behind him. _I wish… _He shook his head, he'd wished on so many stars he doubted there were any left.

He had to face facts, she just didn't… Give up. _There's still hope. _Forget about her_. Wait up- don't sleep yet. _Sleep_._

I want to agree. I want to sleep, _but I just can't tell my inner voice to shut up!_

Damn straight- you can't!

Oh, shut up already!

Despite himself, or whatever entity of his conflicting emotions that represented how he _really _felt, he decided to wait up. He pulled out his wand and began practicing the Optimist Charm. Minutes that seemed like hours later, his less-than-positive mood gave away his woeful wand work. _I was never much good at Charms, anyway_. Yet, for once, he knew that his magic talent was not at fault. His mind was distracted, and kept wandering to the clock above the mantelpiece that ticked away the minutes with irritating accuracy and implausible torpor. He put away his wand and pulled out his _Magic-8 ball_. Concentration was futile. So he was content just to wait.

The clock chimed. Ron counted nine times.

Raindrops pattered against his window. A reasonable excuse for weakness. If there was such a thing. He paused and threw his cloak unto his bed before pulling out a quill.

It was getting colder. The sharp cold thrust into every corner of her body and her thin robes offered little protection to the harsh winter wind. _Why didn't I bring my cloak? _A gentle tick-tock from her watch was the only noise to be heard. Tick-tock. Another minute. _Where was he?_

She looked again at the note:

Dear Hermione,

We need to talk. Or maybe more like I need to talk to you. Nine o' clock, the Forbidden Forest- where we first met. Be there.

-**D**raco__

Of course, Hermione hadn't first seen Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest. She had met him in first year- outside of Harry and Ron's compartment after they had another row.

She had bumped into him while she was searching for Neville's toad. _"Oh, dear. I'm sorry." She helped pick up his books_. This is _not _a good way to make friends_._

"Be careful," he said, indicating the broken ink bottle and the ink that stained his books and her hands. No thank you- nothing. "Another Muggle-born, eh?" He dusted himself off, "That idiot'll let anyone _in."_

She just stood there.

"Don't your kind talk?" Silence. "I don't have time for this." He grabbed the books piled in her arms. "Stupid Mudblood." She didn't recognize the word itself, but the revulsion was evident. Revulsion that made her feel like-

Something inferior. Something dirty. Something that tainted her far deeper than the ink that stained her fingertips. Hermione then went to the girl's bathroom and washed her hands.

-But that moment was years away. She looked at her watch- nearly nine o' clock. Just a couple more minutes.

She didn't blame him for the way he was. _It was his father_. Blame it on his father. Draco wasn't to blame for hating Harry- he was jealous. _Who wouldn't be? _Harry was a wonderful person- even Ron had been jealous on the occasion. He wasn't exactly keeping his talents to himself. He always tried to rub every victory in Draco's nose. Yes, Harry was to blame. It wasn't Draco's fault that he couldn't make it here. The Wizarding Wireless Network predicted rain and extreme weather conditions. He probably thought that only a fool would be out on a freezing night like this. _Only a fool_. Tick-tock.

The wind blew harder still.

To her Malfoy and Draco were two separate entities. Malfoy was inexorable as death and as unapproachable. She was at a loss for words to describe Draco- he was the same, but he had something that distinguished himself from his name. _Am I just hoping for a change that won't happen?_

She was never disenchanted by the ambience of magic that lingered in every adornment of the vast halls of Hogwarts… until today. So it was an angry and distracted Hermione who gave the Fat Lady the password. Slowly, she walked into the Gryffindor Common Room and threw the letter into the dying fire. The guttering flames engulfed the letter, leaving only charred ashes lying in the sooty grate. She shivered and thrust her shaking hands deeper into her pockets. _I _am _a fool._

"Hello Hermione. Nice of you to drop in." Ron looked at the clock that hung over the mantelpiece- half past nine. He smiled, in an obvious attempt to be friendly, but it quickly faded at her face. Judging by her expression, hers was hardly a look of approval. "Who…er, where-?"

How she hated him at that moment. Hated him for making her feel guilty. Hated him for being such a contrast to Malfoy's obvious indifference. And all he had done was show concern. "Spying on me, are you?" she screamed. Heads turned in the Gryffindor Common room.

"Hermione, I-"

A haunting melody drifted on the gentle breeze. Sudden stops when the high-pitched tone was carried aloft farther and farther away. Ginny licked her lips, but the song would not return; the wind, the chill, and a gentle pattering of approaching footsteps were all impediments- preventing her from whistling in the dark. "Hi Harry! _So _glad you could make it!" came Ginny's faintly disapproving voice.

Harry grinned, slightly sheepishly, "Well, I'm positive we didn't miss anything."

"We didn't miss what?" Ginny asked, reaching out for his arm, but shyly letting it fall slack to her side. Harry chose to ignore that. The air turned colder as the sun began its decent into the skyline. She shivered.

Harry gave Ginny another sheepish grin, "I'd lend you my cloak, but …erm… I'm having it …washed."

Ginny smiled. "I know all about the knarl." _We may not be brilliant, but it's not hard to see someone's been attacked when they return from Hagrid's with a chewed up cloak._

She looked up. The sky's zenith was completely black, devoid of color and warmth. There were few stars visible in the city- not even Polaris was to be seen. _Not a particularly romantic setting_. Ginny shivered again.

Almost imperceptibly, she leaned nearer to Harry. Almost. Harry didn't seem to mind and he put his arms around her as the night grew chillier.

"What didn't we miss?" persisted Ginny.

He tipped her chin up to the skies. Her gasp of astonishment was lost to the wind. Shooting stars raced across the velvety black dome, their wispy tails criss-crossing in a tapestry of incandescent threads.

"It's beautiful," Ginny breathed.

Harry's faintly disappointed voice seemed almost anticlimactic, "Yeah, I guess. I expected something like fireworks."

Ginny gave a faint smile. "I'm sure the falling stars are trying their best." Then looked up and with unforeseen bravery, kissed Harry, rather clumsily, on the cheek. "I love you, you know that?"

Harry was unsure. His mind had formed the words, his lips had molded to their shape, his vocal chords were almost singing the syllables-

Yet, he said nothing. After all, he still hadn't told Cho that he loved Ginny. He decided to change the subject, "Love is a pretty complicated word, maybe I…?" Ginny immediately saw the direction, the faint lilt of his voice to a question.

"Love is like…" She paused to think, "You know that feeling you get when- when you hold out your arms, and you're spinning and spinning, for- for like ever and ever?" Harry nodded, although he had never done such a thing in his life. Yet, the nod was sincere.

Oddly enough, Harry had understood her.

Ginny was acutely aware of Harry's lack of response. Her self-consciousness and doubt peeked its pathetic little face at the corner of her thoughts. And soured her mood. She was automatically dismissive, "Anyway, are you always this philosophical when your watching shooting stars on a Friday night with the lady you love?" She waited for a contradiction.

But Harry loved her, Cho was a mere complication, and the hurt edge to Ginny's voice slapped him in the face. "Only when I've had too much butterbeer- or I've fallen in _deep_."

Ginny didn't bother to contain her sigh. "Butterbeer?"

"Love."

_I'm spinning with my arms out, hugging the sky_. "I feel very special."

"Maybe I just have a thing for red heads," Harry whispered into her hair, holding her closer.

"I should warn Ron."

Draco watched as the owl soared on silent wings towards the Gryffindor Tower- where a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor awaited it. The peace of that moment where he contemplated the stillness of the night and compared it to the bustling confines of the Common Room was short lived, however. Quickly, disturbing thoughts intruded themselves, uninvited, into his mind. Opening a window. Allowing light in the dusty corners of his mind.

"Why did I ever send that to her?" _What was with this desperation to see her? _He was intrigued. Was this pointless charade a mere diversion- distraction from who truly was the apple of the other's eye?He laughed. _Was he, for even a moment, harboring a thought; a romantic thought for the Mudblood Granger? _He had long established to himself that the purity of her blood was of no consequence, but the purity of her soul? That remained undisputed- who was he to sully the immaculate perfection of flawless morals? Which was inevitably what he would do. He laughed again. How the tables had turned- was that Draco Malfoy fearing that he might defile a Mudblood with his mangled principles. But the laugh was hollow and the irony merely annoying.

He forced himself to stop thinking. The tumults of thoughts served only to confuse him, and the confusion was unwanted. The owl had returned. Despite himself, he had awaited the return of Heh-Heh- Headwing? Headwig? with anticipation. He quickly unfurled the torn piece of parchment.

_I'll be there. Just make sure _you _show up too._

-**H**ermione

He grabbed his cloak and applied his layers of clothing. He didn't have time to sort out his jumbled thoughts. All that mattered was that in few minutes he'd see her. _It's a damn cold night out there_. Yet, the feet that pattered down to the Forbidden Forest were eager and their footprints were a testament to his commitment.

He shivered, but thoughts of the weather also vanished when he saw her- shivering in the moonlight.

Yet surrounded by the unknown, where dwelt such creatures that could kill, Draco felt strangely at ease. He leaned against a the trunk of a convenient tree and allowed himself to assimilate into the obscurity of nightfall. The inconsistent shadows darkened his face so that his face was a mere echo of humanity. Bottomless features hidden behind a pall of darkness. A shift of the light and there was a nose. Another shift and an eye. He was just another person. Another drop in the flood of humanity. Perhaps, that was the way he liked things best.

Light was his judgment. His persecutor. He was condemned.

When he saw her, there was this blankness. The stunned feeling of- _what was it? _His old thoughts returned, but he refused their admittance. He heard her sigh. "I don't think he'll show up." In the semidarkness, he saw her shake her head. "No. Most definitely he wont."

Draco sighed. A little sigh, that might have easily been mistaken as a small gust of wind. _You didn't think I'd show up, like last time? Well, the Mudblood Granger hates to be proven wrong._ He merely lingered and watched. Memorizing every moment so he could recant them later and stun her. He would love to surprise her. To watch the play of emotions. He was content.

Suddenly, Hermione found herself recalling a verse from a book she had not read in a long time, "Love keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth."

Love. She had said the word. Draco promised to himself that he would never see her again.

A moment's pause before she grabbed her cloak. _Meeting Malfoy at night by the Forbidden Forest- might lead to some unpleasant consequences. I might I loose my head and hex him. Or I might do something unforgivably stupid. Like fall in love with him._

Love. There, that irritating word entered, unbidden to the percolating surface of her mind. Therein, lay her irresolution. Her hand hovered over her neatly folded cloak.

_Meet me in five minutes by the precipice. I await your answer by the owl._

Hermione laughed at the professional-ness of the letter. But her humor had quickly faded as she stood alone in the semi-darkness. Rather disinterestedly, she watched the cut-out pieces of moonlight that flashed across the Lake's surface like shards of a broken mirror afloat in an inkwell. Hermione was never one to put much trust in omens and such, but the bleakness of the night was distinctly ominous.

Cold engulfed her.

Above her, the sky was dark with a velvety smoothness with a gentle freckling of stars. The pale, watery light of the moon infused the air, illuminating her puffs of breath and Hagrid's snow thatched building beyond. She sighed.

"I don't think he'll show up." She shook her head. "No. Most definitely he wont." And he didn't. _Why do I bother? I guess, it's not like I have much better to do in the middle of the night. Except sleep_. She didn't know what to expect. There was this underlying current of sincerity in every word he penned, that made her trust him, but she should have known better. Than to trust a Malfoy. She settled into comforting stereotype.

_I _do _know better_.

The wind crept up behind him and entered in the intimate crevices of his cloak like gentle fingers in a chilling caress. The wind tossed his hair. The wind billowed out his cloak. The wind blew away his footprints in the dusty snow. Only the wind knew he had left the warm confines of the Slytherin Common Room and it maternally guarded his secret until the light in the Gryffindor Tower girl's dormitory was extinguished.

Slowly, and with resolve, he walked back towards the confines of his bedroom. Reaching his dormitory, he noted that his bed was now made, looking inviting in the green and silver hangings; he eagerly sunk into the safety of his four-poster bed, into the rest of a tranquil and peaceful slumber, all the while, thinking of her…

His inner voice was plaguing him. It was the voice of his father. Another note was sent. Another night all alone when he should have been with her. _I should be there. Why am I running away from you? _Because he had nothing to prove, and everything to lose_. _Just when everything had fallen into place, or out of it, he knew the spaces between his gilded ideals were full of uncertainty.

He hated her. He hated her for throwing a stone into the glass encasement on his beliefs. She made his set of morals feel so insubstantial. And cheap. Probably, the cheapest thing he owned. The Mudblood destroyed everything. And made room for something new. He took a deep breath. "This is all stupid!"

He stood alone in the darkness inside of the Slytherin Common Room.

In the boys dormitory, he stood up, opened the window, and stepped towards the dying flames. He pulled out his wand, muttered, "_Incendio_," and moved his chair closer to the warmth of the now crackling fire.

"Are you using this book?" Draco held up Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, "I need it for my History of Magic essay-" That was a lie. There was no essay. And there were probably enough copies of _Hogwarts, A History _in the school library (where they were at the moment) to wallpaper all of Malfoy Manor.

"That's _my _book!" She grabbed it back fiercely and hugged it protectively, lifting her Arithmancy book in front of her face like a hardcover wall between them.

Draco opened his mouth, but what was he to say?

"Don't bother me." Draco knew this was not just about the book. "Anymore." _That bastard_, Hermione thought, silently reveling in the infrequent swearword_, how dare he come up here and talk to me?_

"I know you're probably thinking, '_that prat how dare he come up here and talk to me?_'…" He pulled off Hermione's voice with a rather eerie similarity.

She scowled.

"…_And touch my _Hogwarts, A History _book? The gall!"_

"Bastard. The word I used was bastard."

Draco immediately sobered and sat down at her table. Hermione was determined to ignore him. _Totally determined. I am ignoring Malfoy. I _will _ignore Malfoy. _Draco smirked to himself. She had been on that page for the last five minutes. Five more minutes that slid like mercury across the surface of time. Her hollow brown eyes bore into him, and he felt as though she were slowly siphoning out a bit of his soul with each sweep of them over his face. She gave him an unsettling feeling of vertigo. Like he was standing on the edge.

He'd had it. He was wasting his time, skating dangerously close to emotions that had lay dormant in his soul for a long time. He was dominated by unusual feelings- confusion and doubt. And he hated her for it. "What do you want me to _do_, Hermione?" Draco snarled suddenly, slapping his hand against the table, startling her out of her Arithmancy. "What do you want me to _say_? What do you want me to _think_? Should I hate you?" He snapped, "Should I?" He put both of his hands on either side of her and leaned closer still, so that Hermione could almost feel the anger radiating from him. "_Should I_? Is that what you _want_?" Not for the first time, Hermione found herself thankful for the solitude of the Hogwarts library.

She wanted to say something, but her confidence dissolved in his anger. "I-"To Draco's utter mortification, he found the words just slipping out, "I'm sorry."

_Plan B, apparently_. She paused- determined to believe him. Her anger quelled in his seeming sincerity. Silence.

"Do you realize that this is the first time I've ever apologized-"

"To a _Mudblood_?"

Hermione had interrupted with contempt that scalded Draco- in a dusty place in his upper chest cavity that he had always thought was a useless appendage. "To anyone."

Hermione was less surprised than expected. "I don't care anymore." She sighed and looked down sternly at her Arithmancy book, "Just go away, I've got work to do." As he left he heard her mutter, "I'm just wasting my time." _He's not worth it._

_She _was nothing. Mudblood filth. But she was everything to him.

He hadn't said a word. About anything that really mattered. About-

The thoughts tumbling and scurrying in his head, clamoring for attention-

the repressed feelings that screamed cruelly in his ears, high-pitched shrieks like a banshee. Coherent ideas unconsciously detached from him, leaving mixed-up and conflicting emotions behind, most of which he was unsure. Wasted minutes and nothing became clearer- all he had to show for it was a headache. Perhaps he'd owl home and ask them to ship over his Pensieve if these thoughts wouldn't stop rattling their cages. As looked at his reflection, he saw the flashes of emotion. He'd didn't need that kind of vulnerability. The façade he created was not to entomb him, but to protect him. _Against what? _His father had never been specific, but perhaps in the shadows there was an enemy waiting to attack. Waiting for a moment of weakness. _Waiting in the dark_. For him, when his defenses were down and his senses muted by…whatever this was- this _confusion_. This _insecurity _and _skepticism _that burrowed into his fundamental beliefs like a nameless parasite. Like her expression ingrained on his memory. And his confidence had vanished, along with his expressionless mask.

No one should have been able to see through it, he had a lifetime of practice, _but…then how?…how had she…?_

He let her.

He shook his head and only the thoughts of Hermione drifted and floated to his mind's surface. Then there was his ceaseless desperation to see her. To stare into her rather plain face and to hold her rather skinny arms in his. Just Hermione's well-put words were like a well-aimed flint, igniting the fuel of emotion long inside him. Even as he thought of her, he hated her for how one look into her eyes was enough to leave him questioning everything he thought he believed. He fell a little deeper into the trap that she had unwittingly set. His pride told him to struggle against his bonds, but his heart told him to submit. _No! I- I have to talk to her… explain… Since when did that rotten Mudblood need explanations? Why should I care? _But he knew; he knew he cared.

"Damn."

And weighing each word in his mind, he penned his thoughts.

****

Part Two- Return to Sender

On the North Tower stood a figure facing the Lake, black against the bright hues that emanated from the sun in sheer radiance. She was framed by waning sunlight. "I don't know why I bothered," she muttered to herself. Her eyes flickered to the lengthening shadows cast by the turrets and spires of the Hogwarts castle. She was alone.

He moved trancelike as though he was in a dream. Then he saw her, and he knew he didn't want to wake up.

He woke cautiously, his footsteps light and noiseless on the dusty, stone floor.

Hermione's lips moved slowly. "You came." She didn't turn around.

"I had to."

"I thought you wouldn't come…"

"I'm here and I'm not leaving until-"

"I don't know why I came- I mean I didn't expect you to show-" Hermione interrupted herself, "Why did you come?"

"Don't you get it, Granger?" _Granger_. It sounded distant to her. Alien. His voice was unchanged. It was an echo- a day on a precipice.

The moon was obscured by a drifting cloud and could not illume the all-consuming blackness that prowled in the wake of sunset. In that effervescent moment, only the horizon exhibited any color at all- a vermilion brilliance that to Hermione was suggestive of Ron's hair.

"Hermione-" She loved the way her name sounded when he said it. The undisclosed emotion in his eyes eclipsed the setting sun. Draco's hands slowly crept around her waist. "I love you-" Hell froze over. _I love you_, reverberated in her mind until it became a warped warning. She stiffened and broke from his embrace. He was bathed by moonlight. Draco's pale features grew paler as a shadow slowly concealed the moon. Through the waning light, his gray eyes caught the bleak light from outside as he stared expectantly at her. He looked sinister and this fleeting display of his darker side- or perhaps simply the reminder that he had one- intimidated her.

"I…I…" she stammered. _Granger. Granger_. "I have to go…" _Granger. _"Dra-…Malfoy," and with that unreturned statement fluttering in the air and tainting all undisclosed emotion with a bleak and uncertain silence, she left Draco to his thoughts.

"Hermione…I'm sorry about the letters." She heard him whisper as she left him alone in the darkness of the North Tower.

She had to leave. Then again, she had never seen the look in his eyes, or anyone else's eyes for that matter, before. It intrigued her. And that hint of uncertainty in his voice trapped her. His eyes were magnetic- his whole being was irresistible. His eyes, his voice, his arms- everything seemed to be culminating into a perfect moment of bliss, conspiring to allow another instant of weakness- of curiosity. Leaving was the only option- she _had _to leave to sort out the reckless disorder created by those succinct, yet utterly complex words.

"The Cannon's won!" Ron bounded into the Gryffindor Common Room his face as one who has reached nirvana. Hermione pitied him. _Getting worked up about something so stupid-_

She prepared herself for a cutting response to this effect, but she quickly stifled it. "Hello? Herm-oh-ninny?" His cheerful voice grated on her nerves and irritated her beyond measure.

"Yeah, _great_." The sarcasm was evident to everyone except Ron Weasley. And for that he should be thankful. So he plunged on, oblivious to her indifference, "A match to last the ages, I'm sure. I mean-"  
Hoping that her bad mood could excuse her sour tone, she had no hesitation in interrupting him, "Yeah." The lack of inflection in her voice was lost on Ron.

"I _wish _I'd been there."

_I wish you'd been there too. _She opened her mouth to say exactly that, but her angry mood dissipated as she looked up at him. He was so happy,and it spread like contagion to the surrounding Gryffindor's. The Common Room was full of smiles. "I'm very happy that your happy Ron," she said with sudden warmth and sincerity.

He gave her a genuine smile and she felt her spirits soar a little higher. His whole self was hyperactive with pent-up enthusiasm and he bounded up, knocking over his chair. "Wait'll I tell Harry!"

Thoughts of Draco were a pestilence; they soured her thoughts and embittered her spirits. Last year, she could always see another reason to smile. All she needed was a carefree grin and a shock of freckles to pull her out of her pensive reverie. And she was glad that she had that for a best friend. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to be happy for no reason. In her opinion, she had precious little to be happy about.

__

I'm loved, she recalled suddenly_, Isn't that enough? _And, as she looked down at the two teams (Slytherin and Hufflepuff, by their colors) trek across the Hogwarts grounds, she thought, _Perhaps..._

If only I knew I loved back.

Hermione bounded in the boy's dormitory, much as Ron had entered the Gryffindor Common Room earlier, "C'mon Harry- Ron; I'm in the mood for some _Quidditch_!"

"_Hermione,_" Ron whined, "I wanted to tell Harry about-"

"The Chudley Cannon's won." She waved her hand listlessly, "Whoo. Now let's go."

Ron looked as though he wished that looks could kill. Hermione; however, refused to allow gloom to settle upon him. She decided to return the favor. "Feel better, Ronniekins." She hugged him, to Ron's confusion and delight. "Now let's go watch the match!"

"Yeah!" Ron sat up, suddenly enthused and brilliantly red. Harry didn't need an explanation for his full blush, but the Hermione looked curiously.

"Aww…" Harry wiped away a nonexistent tear, "What a Kodak moment…" Hermione laughed.

Ron refused to be the ignorant one. "What? You mean those symbols in the newspapers that Muggles use to tell the future-" Unfortunately for Ron, that role was tailored for him at the moment.

Hermione sighed and pulled both Harry and Ron up from their respective chairs, "No, Ron. That's the _Zodiac_. Kodak is a camera company that also makes and develops Muggle film."

Ron feigned understanding. "Yes, of course." Unfortunately for him, (again) he was also a terrible actor. Harry laughed, but Hermione was too impatient to wait any longer.

Ron leaned over towards Harry as they all hurried to the pitch. "You know what this means don't you?"

"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You owe me ten galleons. You said that the Cannon's would never win." In an unforgivable moment of immaturity, Ron stuck out his tongue and did a victory dance. Seeing the odd looks from the passing Hufflepuffs, he sped ahead to catch up with Hermione, who was moving with uncharacteristic vigor. _Why the sudden rush? She was never a big Quidditch fan…_

_I hate Quidditch. _Nonetheless, Hermione had yet to find a better way to let off a bit of steam after spending so much time thinking of that Slytherin prat. _That's what he was and _is_._ A prat. For all those times that he made her feel inferior. For those times where he tried to ruin everything. And especially for that moment when he said he loved her. _How dare he…? _No, she wasn't bitter at all.

She had become accustomed to his sneer.

For Draco, Hermione was willing to forgive everything, to overlook every instant that he had humiliated her and to tuck every unpleasant memory into the neatly partitioned cubbyholes of her mind. She wanted to forget every moment, but it was in times like these that they returned and the neatly organized library was in disorder again. Hermione hated disorder. She hated the constant chain reaction of her thoughts. The way her mind would lure her and ensnare her with thoughts of Draco. How her ideals, precariously balanced on their shaky pedestals, would all come tumbling down in their domino succession. Yet the daily, albeit hourly, tornado became a habit- the struggle was endured and enjoyed, because every resolution to stay away from Draco brought her closer to him. She loved the way her brain normally cooperated with her, how her mind and heart were separate, but equal entities- each with their own symmetry. However, her own contrariness accustomed her to the cause and effect. That the conformity would suddenly become unbalanced and corrupt. The way her heart could suddenly dominate and control with totalitarian vigor. But that too, became a habit. It wasn't as though she even had amiable thoughts of him; it was just the way her heart quickened when she saw him or how she was always searching for him in a crowd. _Maybe, there's no reason to search anymore_.

Perhaps that was love. That over-emotional euphoria, that enveloped her like drunkenness, when she was in his proximity. The way her rationality would fade away as though it never existed and all that she could think about was he. She was intoxicated with thoughts of him. And she was content with that. _At least that's how it works in the movies._

Her eyes sought him among the green bedecked Quidditch players. She expected to recognize him by his unmistakable platinum hair, but instead her eyes pursued hooded a figure who darted and dashed in and out of the Hufflepuff Chaser formations with ability that came not with raw talent, like Harry's, but with cultivated skill. A sudden burst of speed caused his hood to fall back and reveal his light blonde hair glinting in the cloudy sunlight. Draco totally absorbed himself in his search. He gave her a fleeting glance. _Well, not totally absorbed_. Again she saw him look back at her, narrowly avoid missing a particularly malevolent Bludger. She loved the pleasant turnaround- now she was distraction to the unreachable Slytherin.

She smiled. So he was Malfoy. _If this is love, then I'm going to make sure I enjoy every minute of it. _So when Draco caught the Snitch in practically no time, seconds shy of breaking Harry's record, she was the only Gryffindor who cheered. She didn't care. _Love is great_.

Ron watched Hermione's omnioculars dart around and follow a Slytherin who only could be Draco Malfoy.

Draco relished his loneliness because it was an undemanding companion who was both introspective and courteous. Loneliness gave him peace. It gave him the solace that human camaraderie could not. And could never do.

"Go away Crabbe- Goyle." He never referred to them separately, he kept them one entity because it was more convenient for him. He preferred things that way.

Things were easier. And then Hermione came, the cataclysmic variable. "There's nothing wrong with being a loner," he called to the retreating backsides of Crabbe and Goyle. The three had known each other forever, but the had never ascended to informality. They were and always would be Crabbe and Goyle.

A female voice called. He sunk lower into his chair, he preferred loneliness to Pansy.

"That's true." Suddenly, a voice was right behind him. "If you really want to be alone."

And he preferred Hermione to loneliness.

She had walked into the library, spied Malfoy, and quickly headed towards a rather inconspicuous table in the corner. _He probably wanted it that way_. Hermione wanted to tread carefully. She knew she couldn't, not with so much left unexplained-

She was _always _searching for explanations, reasons, definitions- "Define love, Malfoy."

_What was it that my father said? "Emotional pollution. Hormones. More adolescent stupidity." I bet it's great_. He hesitated. "I'd say love is a many splendored thing- but I think that's been said before." He looked to her and his normally unexpressive face, clearly showed his unasked question, _What do you want me to say?_

Hermione shrugged, "All I know about love is that it's all you need." _I don't really believe that. Do I? _Could it be that while Hermione has always prided herself on solitude and independence- _Maybe all along, I wanted adolescent romance to giggle over. To gossip about with Lavendar and Parvati. To remember-_

"All you need is love? Put that to a song and you might have something." Hermione gave him the strangest smile. Years later, Hermione would find herself remembering that moment, when they were so close and slowly she was becoming lightheaded on obsolete thoughts.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward- a the faintest trace of eagerness on his face, "Back to the question. Love is…?"

"Love is."

"How incredibly simple." He held out his hands in a gesture of partial understanding.

"Well… I left out all the boring stuff." Hermione muttered, rather sheepishly. Draco didn't voice the private thought, _For a change, _and instead said, "So, do you think you'll ever forgive me for being… not nice to you?"

"No. Don't be ridiculous."

Draco opened his mouth for what probably was a sarcastic comment, but nothing came out as Hermione had taken that moment to kiss him lightly on the mouth. And _that _was how it all began.

_No, this doesn't complicate things in the slightest._

****

A/N: Draco's just hmm… exercising caution. I mean it's not like he's afraid. He just is having this inner battle thingy about whether he's willing to take the final plunge- you know admit that he actually cares enough to show up. Hermione's unsure, but I think Draco's too sure and that kind of intimidates him. I know the title is cheesy- but I couldn't resist with the whole letter correspondence theme.


	14. Two Part: One Foot in the Grave Lost an...

****

Author's Notes: I got a review a bit back, saying I needed to tie everything together. I must admit I've been drawing out some things I needed to resolve a bit earlier. Well, I got sidetracked by the Draco/Hermione love. I dedicate this chapter to Freya, to show that I appreciate constructive criticism. Hopefully this clears some things up.

****

Part One- One Foot in the Grave

__

By Sabrina Clarke and Edited by Fiona Chan

Evaline Smethwyck sat alone in her office. A shaking hand held a letter by the light cast by the stout taper. Severus Snape's footfall was light and noiseless on the dusty floor. In a moment he felt lighthearted, and a vaguely playful spirit entered him. Anything to banish that expression of utter solemnity on her face. He glided over to her reaching out his hand.

In a second she was facing him, her wand pointed dead-on his forehead, and a wild look in her eyes. Recognizing him with unseeing eyes, she turned abruptly pushing the letter quickly into the candle. "Severus! You surprised me…"

He watched as the flames ran across the edges consuming the parchment and leaving the charred ashes in her hand. Not before he could see- he could read-

"Evaline Dolohov." There was a hidden query enwrapped in the guise of a statement.

"Yes, my name is Dolohov." That and nothing more. Evaline looked away.

"Of the Dolohov's betrayed by Karkaroff." It wasn't a question.

"I was his wife." She lowered her eyes. "And Karkaroff played no role his capture."

"Then how…?"

"I betrayed him." She faced Snape full in the face. "What he was doing- it was so _wrong_, so _evil_…" Snape's mouth puckered into a snarl. He grabbed her violently by the wrists and held their pale frailty in a vise-like grasp. Again returned that look, the deadened trapped look. It was an expression of utter hopelessness. He tightened his grip on wrists and silently watched as tears surged past her eyelids. "Severus…"

"You're lying."

Thrashing about violently, she snarled, "You don't know-"

He shook her. "But I _do_. Don't lie to me." He snapped, "Stop crying." Suddenly, she felt intimidated. His voice was in a deadened whisper and the coldness chilled her like ice slipping down her back.

Silence.

Suddenly, she burst out, speaking so her words tripped over themselves in haste, "I think Voldemort knew the whole time- and- and, so I- to avoid suspicion- I rose quickly through those ranks which I had so despised. I'm sure of it- Voldemort knew the whole time, but he knew that even if I didn't believe in his lies that- that, well, I would follow him forever just to stay alive… Perhaps that made _me _the most loyal be-because I was the most afraid." Snape affected a guarded expression.

Evaline continued, "Lucius knew what I had done- oh Antonin- and he made quick use of it. Oh Antonin- God, I'm sorry." He could hear her weakening. He could feel her shoulders trembling. He could feel his own heart beating frantically.

Severus wrapped her small frame tightly in his arms. "Lucius is long dead-"

She suddenly laughed, "He will take that knowledge with him to his grave."

"You-"

"No."

"I see… but you threw in your lot with Voldemort."

"So did you."

_I had what I thought were the best reasons. Now- _He paid his debt to Potter's parents and already the malevolent forces surrounded him. Potter was a dead man. _Did it matter if he died a year later? Because prolonging the inevitable was only a perverse form of self-denial. _Snape had made enough excuses.

"Your not out of the dark yet- that's your blindness. A little light? You think that's _hope_? You know what it is? It's _me _going through a cemetery down a well-trod path. Your not out of the dark yet, Severus. You never will be until you reach your final home six feet under." She tapped her foot against the cold, stone floor and waited. _Walk back into the dark, embrace it before it smothers you._

He kissed her.

"ARGHHH!" Dudley Dursley sat up with a start. Lazy by nature, it wasn't unusual for him to sleep eighteen hours a day, but lately it seemed as if he was always sleeping. What changed, too, was what he was thinking of, while he was sleeping. His limited imagination only allowed him to dream of eating and ruling the world- with occasional dreams of a certain movie actress, but lately there had been more and more dreams with intense realism and detailed elements of pure fancy, despite his lack of creativity. People he's never met, with impossible abilities, in a world he never knew existed, and the mysterious stranger who frequently appeared. _Vol- Vold- Volmort? Voldemort? _But that ridiculous name stirred a spasm of fear in his soul, that came out in beads of cold sweat.

Somewhere, summoned from the depths of mind, he remembered an old man with half-moon spectacles. _Or have I dreamed him up, too? And a nurse? _I woman who took care of him, who fed him, so much like the woman at the hospital he went to, after he mowed down old lady Figg with his racing bike.

…_"Watch where you're going, you old bat!" he sneered at Mrs. Figg, who was shaking her angry fist._

"You get back here, you overfed hooligan!" But he merely stuck his middle finger out at her and pedaled faster. Was there a gap in the sidewalk that threw him off balance? A loose rock? Whatever it was, the next thing he knew, he was launched off his bike and a kindly nurse was sponging his tender forehead in a setting of complete comfort…

He fidgeted in his bed and smelled the sharp sterile-ness in the atmosphere. Dudley was trained in sniffing out foods and other odors so he would know when to steal lunch off some kid, but there was a new smell which was distinctly alien. It was the smell of the atmosphere after Dudley had somehow turned his teacher's wig blue, despite that his mother maintained it was Harry's doing. It was the strange prickling of magic. His eyes roamed uneasily over his unfamiliar surroundings, _what was that next to his bed? _He gulped. It was a cauldron, which was boiling some strange decoction without a source of heat. "What the-?"

The kind woman bustled in, with her hair in curling papers. "Now, now…Dudley, right? You may call me Madam Pomfrey." She pat him absently on the head in a way that enraged Dudley. "Now, dear, what seems to be the problem?" She pulled out a feather and a notepad.

Dudley's small eyes squinted, and his brow was furrowed. "I had a dream. Lord Vol-Voldmort- Voldemort… whatever, _what's-his-name'_s in a cave- I think it's underground, with these creepy looking people- one of them was kinda fat and there was something queer about him…I don't know… and woman, in dresses- both of them were, I mean, and there was this dark-haired girl, and a- a _thing _with pointy ears and… a tea cozy?- anyway the man- I think he was the leader, yeah he _was _really odd and he had this army of dog-things said a strange thing like, 'Lord Voldemort is a hunter who always gets his quarry…'- I'm telling you- that guy was _weird_. Anyway, that's what he said to Harry-"

__

"_Harry?!_"shrieked Madam Pomfrey, standing up suddenly. "Oh dear," he heard her mumble, "The Headmaster must hear of this immediately! Oh…that boy, always getting himself into trouble, just like his father…"

Dudley's ears perked up at the mentioning of Harry's father. His parents, too, had forbidden any mentioning of Harry's parents and he was quite keen to learn about them, but to his disappointment she mentioned them no further. He feared to interrupt her- she was looking venomous and worried. "Regrowing bones, Quidditch injuries, giant snakes…" He glanced at the quill, which was still writing as though by an unseen hand.

"_Incendio_," she snapped to the fireplace, although why she had a fireplace at all in hospital mystified Dudley, and took something like a coffee carafe of the mantle. Pouring what looked like sparkly green sand into her hand, she threw it into the fire and spoke to the now green flames, calmly, as though she was on the telephone, "Headmaster Dumbledore, come quickly." She paused. "Bring the pensieve and ask the Order to apparate at the Shrieking Shack immediately- then go to the my wing. The Hounds have got his scent." This was, of course, utter nonsense to Dudley- _was that an old man's disembodied head in fire_? _Some sort of ritual sacrifice? _He felt faint.

Dudley cringed in his bed; she was surely a madwoman. Seeing that he was still awake, the nurse took a handful of a different kind of sand and flung it carelessly at him. Sand would do horrors to his sensitive skin, but that mattered little as he suddenly had the irresistible urge to…_yawn_.

Dobby knew the hallways of _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _better than anyone- even Fred and George. His large, tennis-ball sized eyes were perfect for catching little breaks in the stone walls that shouldn't be there and his small body fit into the smallest crevices- behind suits of armor, under statues- anywhere. In his hands, was a magnificent cloak, the product of many hours toil on his days off. The simple and torn cloak had been fixed and delicately embroidered with silver thread to cover up the more conspicuous seams. Sliding his slender fingers in a nearly invisible slat in the wall, he pried back the wall enough so he could slide into the boys dormitory. He knew he ought to have waited, but experience had taught him Harry Potter did not like being awakened early in the morning.

He cautiously approached the bed, saw a wand and, next to it, a note. Looking around furtively, Dobby picked it up and read the hastily written, but nonetheless neat note-

__

Dear Harry,

Meet me by the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw at the entrance of the Astronomy Tower at nine. I can't stop thinking about you- about everything that's happened. About Cedric and you and that redhead. I need you to help me, maybe we can. I don't know what's going on.

-Cho

Dobby wanted to see the look on Harry Potter's face when he saw his wonderful cloak. But it never entered the poor creature's head to leave the cloak and not interrupt Harry on what would obviously be an embarrassing moment. Nor did it enter Dobby's head to wait for Harry until he returned or to wait until the next day. Even if it had, his little stubborn spirit would not have listened. So Dobby ran quickly, seeking Harry, but what awaited him was far more than a hormone dilemma between two teens.

Remus Lupin alighted on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. He slung his broomstick over his shoulder and made his way down to the Hospital Wing to where Dumbledore anxiously awaited him.

He pulled a beaten-up quill from out of his pocket and searched his other pocket for a piece of parchment. Finding none, he looked around quickly and spied a piece fluttering a couple feet away from a nearby statue. On it he wrote the words:

Sirius,

Forecast: The storm has arrived.

-R.

He would send it after he met up with Dumbledore.

Dudley awoke to the sound of arguing voices. "…once Harry's been targeted there's no saving him…"

"_Expecto patronum_?"

"No, Remus, that wont work. Not against more than one. Harry's not strong enough to-"

They all stopped. A short little man with a beard to rival the old man with the half-moon spectacles', had entered and he too appeared to be in a state of great agitation. "Headmaster - Professor…Dumbledore." He sighed, "Severus is nowhere to be seen."

Remus growled, "He has betrayed us all."

Dumbledore sank down into an empty hospital cot and covered his face with his aged hands.

McGonagall burst in, "Harry's gone!"

_Severus, what have you done?_

****

Part Two- Lost and Found

"I've brought the boy," Snape whispered, jerking his head to where Harry was chained. She did not respond, but merely reached out a shaking hand, her red painted nails caressing his pale face.

"Evaline…"

The lines of her countenance were haunting and stark. She was drawing him in again, spinning her spell with no witchery at all. Severus bent forward and kissed her waiting lips. He had made his decision. She stiffened and froze in his arms as he slowly withdrew a bloody knife from her back. He walked away. And so Severus Snape lost the second love of his life to Voldemort.

Snape rather shakily approached Harry. "You will need-" His face had turned several tints paler, and Harry could see blood on his fingertips as he extended his hand to give Harry a rather hesitant pat on back. Halfway, though, his hand paused. "There is only one thing that can save you." He heard a noise, the sound of approaching footsteps. His voice sped up in urgency. "I need to return to Hogwarts so I can explain… and send for help." All of this was lost on Harry.

Harry was exasperated and struggled to keep his voice under control and under 10 decibels. He failed, but this can be excused when he was frustrated and facing almost inevitable death. "Why don't you _get it for me_? I'm in a bit of an awkward position right now, what with _my arms chained and all_…" Snape hastily cast an unlocking spell on the magical chains that bound Harry.

"You will not take that tone with me, Potter-"

"Sorry. I just get stressed when I'm in _mortal peril _and_ someone _can't seem do to anything about it."

Snape took a deep, shuddering breath, "Do not let your mother have died in vain. She was a wonderful person…" his voice died away. "Take your wand. Be on awares. I will return shortly with the Order-"

"Can't you take me with you?"

"Can you apparate, Potter? I didn't think so." And with a pop, Harry's last connection to the wizard world was gone.

_What exactly am I up against over here? _He remembered the article. The photos. _Oh, shit_.

_It is the only thing that can save you now_. He reached into his pocket for the protection of his wand. Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing.

He was helpless. He was alone_. It is the only thing that can save you now. _Knowing that his efforts were fruitless, he concentrated every fiber of his being on that object- whatever it was, willing it, propelling it to him. Nothing happened. And he was exhausted.

This was not the first time that Harry cursed his impatience. With a cry of frustration, he kicked at the chains and they came to life, binding him anew.

__

Great. Just great.

_Dobby will be in so much trouble, if Professor Dumbledore knew. Dobby will have to iron his ears and shut his hands in the oven door. Then Dobby will iron his hands and shut his ears in the oven door. Dobby doesn't not even know where Harry Potter is, not that Dobby would have been able to recognize him in the darkness._

Ouch. Bad Dobby deserved to stub his foot. He looked down. _What is this? _He picked it up. _Oh, lucky Dobby!_ It was an old discarded torch. Thankful small favors, the House-Elf lit the torch with a snap of his fingers. Being careful to make no noise, he wandered around the labyrinthine tunnels with no hope of finding his way out- only the hope of finding Harry.

His feet raised small clouds of dust in a steady padding rhythm. The torch was heavy and the surrounding dust had probably ruined the cloak, but Dobby was more intent on finding Harry Potter.

An echoing moan. Without a moment's hesitation. Dobby sped off it's direction, despite the confusing retorts of the echoing cave walls.

He spied a distant glimmering light- like a path illumed that led him to Harry and a broken promise.

"_Stupefy_."

Severus Snape collapsed on the boundaries of the Hogwarts grounds. "Traitor_."_

"Harry Potter?"

Harry quickly snapped out of his state of lifelessness, the bottomless exhaustion that came only with physical and mental strain. The voice was unmistakable.

"Dobby?" Through the obscurity of the dimly lighted cave, a figure entered casting a distinctly unique shape. Dobby appeared bearing a torch that cast off such infinite beauty and purity that Harry felt a sense of calm and determination settle upon him like a pall of wakefulness.

"Oh, it _is _Harry Potter!" Dobby looked exultant and slightly sinister in the blinding torchlight, "Dobby will save you!" He snapped his fingers again. The chains fell on the floor with a dull _clang_. Immediately giving wide berth between himself and the chains, Harry sprang forward and hugged Dobby, bringing tears to the young elf's eyes. "Harry Potter is not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"Dobby promised never to save Harry Potter's life again."

"I'll let it pass this time. Next time you wont be so lucky." Harry grinned down at Dobby and gave the House-Elf a friendly pat on the head. Dobby's bulbous eyes saw that Harry was joking and the little elf gave an ear-to-ear smile at his hero.

A distant crash.

__

"Put out the torch, Dobby. I hear something." But the noise was far off and urgency took precedence over caution. "It was probably nothing." In a way, he was taking for granted the situation. For Harry, help had always arrived in the nick of time and at an oddly convenient moment.

"Dobby wishes he could take Harry with him back to Hogwarts."

Harry froze. "You mean… you _can't_?"

"'Tis part of a House-Elf's enslavement, sir. Cannot do magic for or against a human unless specifically allowed by Professor Dumbledore." With each word Dobby nodded vigorously.

"Can't you break it just this once? I'm sure Dumbledore won't be mad if you bring me back alive…"

Dobby shook his head vigorously. "It is not a rule that can be broken. No, it's not rule that can be broken. No- no." Harry sighed. He cupped his hands full of rocks that littered the ground, "Like the rule that makes these rocks fall to the ground-" He dropped them, so that they clattered again to the floor, "It's like that. It cannot be broken- no, it can't." Dobby looked at Harry seriously. "Harry Potter must beware. Dobby hears: Mars is bright tonight."

Harry immediately became interested. "Lucky, for dark nights are always unpleasant?" The House-Elf looked confused.

"Dobby is sorry that he doesn't understand, Harry Potter." Dobby's voice was echoing repeatedly in the close confines of the tunnels. His clearly pronounced words were mangled until they were scarcely discernable. "Dobby wishes that Dobby could save Harry Potter's life again. Even if it meant that Harry Potter would be angry. Because Harry Potter will always be Dobby's hero…" And then… all Harry could hear was echoes. Echoes that surrounded him. Echoes that smothered his words. Until when Harry stopped calling Dobby's name, all was silence.

"A tea cozy?!" Dumbledore cried.

Harry became increasingly agitated. Each second felt like an eternity. Each minute was a moment longer away from a slender glimmer of light- of life. His shallow hope.

He prayed for luck. And his prayers were almost immediately answered by the friendly force that seemed bent on keeping Harry alive. A light shone with rejuvenating intensity in the distance. "Dobby?"

Harry had entered a cavern, still calling Dobby's name. The mist that hung about the scattered rocks and boulders like an seemed almost artificial in the faint light. He slowly stepped into the silent, shadowed unknown. His foot struck something solid.

"Wha-" he uttered in surprise, but he heard nothing."Anyone out there?" Silence. Harry's voice took on a pleading sound, "Hello?"  
A low cry that seemed to pervade from the entire place, called his name. "Hello?" Another cry. Shattered silence. _Was that Moody's voice? He will kill you_. Harry once more stepped forward. His foot struck something again.

"Wha-" he bent forward, but everything was swallowed by the ensnaring darkness. It lured him forward. Another moan. Another step. _He will kill you_.

Then he heard Cedric's voice. "Wands out, d'you reckon?" And Harry looked down. Two wide, glassy eyes stared at him- his face permanently frozen into and expression of surprise. _It's all my fault. I told him to take the trophy._

Harry didn't move.

"Harry Potter…" _I told him to take the trophy._ Two red eyes gleamed in the night. _I told him to take the trophy. _Pale, faintly glowing hands, bearing a wand, emerged in the darkness.

Harry recalled that he had left his new wand in his dormitory. He looked up. Voldemort was watching him, twirling Harry's old wand between his long fingers.

Harry looked desperate.

"A couple of years ago, Harry- if you remember, this wand gave me a bit of trouble. I won't let it happen again." Taking an end in each of his hands, he broke the wand neatly in two splintered halves. He smiled as he threw them away carelessly and letting them clatter away into the darkness. All the time he spoke, Voldemort's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost hungry look in them. That look- it was in a long-suppressed memory.

It was déjà vu. The force of the memory nearly knocked him down. Several years ago such were the roles between Harry and Tom Riddle. Now, a couple of years later, Harry stood against a fifty year older Voldemort. It was strange really, almost ironic, how magic worked.

Yet, it was an uncanny semblance that left Harry in despondency. Two unlikely weapons came to his aid in that hopeless situation, those years past. _Who will help me now? _Under his robes, Harry crossed his fingers. _Stall him_.

"What ever happened- the diary…?"

Voldemort smiled. With long slender fingers he pulled his robes askew on his shoulders baring a deep, scarred gash above his heart. "Basilisk venom. Very lethal- but I'm sure you know that."

"How…?"

"I have my sources. But this-" he pointed to the scar, "Well- I am Tom Riddle."

Harry suddenly understood. _Ah, Peter Pettigrew._

"Professor Evaline?"

"More than eager to deliver you into my hands. Lord Voldemort can be very persuasive."

"You threatened to kill her, didn't you? Well, what about Snape?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice unconcerned and surprised, "How did you get him to turn me in?"

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. You'll find that the alternate options are few."

Harry had run out of questions. "I suppose you can kill me now," he said in a last attempt at bravado.

"Oh, Harry were would the fun in that be?" Voldemort paused, "I recant that statement. Instead I say, I intend to have _more _fun by making you suffer."

"How?" Harry asked with morbid curiosity. _If I'm going to die, I might as well know how._ Voldemort smiled. The baying of a hound resounded in Echo's cryptic replies. "I see. So you're not taking any chances?"

"As much as I would love the joy of killing you." Voldemort spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. "There is too much about you, yet undiscovered- unknown. A fatal error on my part would be detrimental to my campaign. There will be no errors. To err is human. But what of a beast of the supernatural?" again returned that horrible smile. Another sinister echo.

Harry shivered. Each distant baying was like the note of an organ at his funeral. He had never before felt that twinge. That tug of cowardice. That wish to curl up in a fetal position and abandon all semblance at pride.

"Harry, they're coming. Do you hear the fall of their tireless paws?" Voldemort laughed and pointed his wand decidedly at the sky, "_Mosmordre_!" The Dark Mark blossomed like the inflation of a grotesque balloon. Voldemort disappeared into the darkness and all that could be seen was an abnormally long finger pointing to a stone nearby Harry. Harry attention focused on it. The words, 'In memory of Cedric Diggory' emerged as though an invisible rock and chisel was engraving the words into the stone. 'The real Hogwarts champion.' At the irony of this, Harry would have laughed- if he was one of the stupid sort who meant it when they said they laughed in the face of danger. Instead, he allowed an unforgivable moment of weakness.

He was crying. Crying because Cedric didn't deserve to die. Crying because all those people who expected so much of him- all those people who truly believed in him were wrong, and once more Lucius Malfoy had another reason to give a post-mortem sneer. Most of all, he was crying because his parent's sacrifice had indeed bought him all those years of what was inevitably borrowed time. Borrowed time for a price too costly. He was going to see them soon. The thought cheered him little.

The padding rhythm of their heavy paws created a tremor in the ground and in Harry. Each tremor brought them closer. He was unprepared. He was wand-less. He was friend-less. He was helpless. The resentful tears still fell.

Through a nearby group of rocks he saw the first dog appear. It was a sinister apparition, so reminiscent of the Grim, with the deadly hooks for claws and the teeth that were sharp enough to- _Best not think about that_. However, try as he might, every aspect of the hound was fearsome. Its howl was shattering to the stillness of the night and the dismal echoes of its encroaching fellows sent a chill throughout Harry. It bounded ever closer with each earth-shattering leap. It stopped; two white filmy looking eyes, stared blandly at Harry, and the nose- each nostril flared and snorted inhaling his scent, issuing a tiny jet of steam- was so close that Harry could feel it's heat and could see the faint misting in his glasses.

He slinked back, hoping that the sudden move wouldn't catch the dog's attention. He let out a sigh. The head abruptly snapped in his direction, and the dog slowly approached. Harry took another leap away, knowing that even in the dense fog his movement would be obvious. But hopes of survival had diminished with the entrance of the hound. All he wanted was to prolong this game of hound and quarry. The dog didn't turn. He waved his hand in a foolhardy gesture. The dog still didn't move. It was blind.

And therein lay his only hope for survival.

"_Harry Potter_!" All of the heads of the Hounds simultaneously snapped in the direction of Dobby's voice, so far off and slowly changing from agitation to mocking echoes. _Harry. Harry…Harry…_

It's all my fault. A flash of green. And all was darkness.

Sirius entered Hogwarts, Snape in tow behind him. "I've got the bloody traitor."

"Oh, _dear_. Oh, oh, oh, oh dear." Hermione wrung her hands together nervously, "What am I going to do?" She grabbed Draco by the collar and whined in his ear, "What are _we _going to do? I'm quite sure we're not supposed to be here. We're definitely not the school grounds. Oh, oh, oh oh-"

"Hermione?" Draco asked, speaking over Hermione's nervous chatter. She nodded. "Shut up." Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed her neck, pulling her close to him.

"Draco! This is hardly the time-" With her in a tight embrace, he led her out of the dark room and past Professor Evaline's dead body. _Better that she didn't see_. They were out of the room and Draco loosened his grip on her neck.

Hermione immediately opened her mouth, "Well I should say-!" Draco reached out and put his hand over her mouth.

"No, you shouldn't. Don't say anything." He paused and felt a tremor go through his body as his pulse quickened, "Did you hear that?"

For the first time that night, Hermione was silent. In the distance, clearly heard, was the baying of hounds. They shared a glance and saw each other's expressions on their faces. Draco involuntarily shivered and took a step forward.

"Cold?" Hermione whispered, her hand reaching out for his.

"No. I felt…" Draco's eyes focused on a flash of green in front of him. Deep inside of him, it struck a chord and he automatically felt fearful. "It was a goose walking over my grave, I guess," he said, attempting a smirk.

Hermione attempted and failed at an encouraging smile. Quickly, but silently, wands out, they made their way closer and closer to the sound.

Remus flipped over his unsent letter for Sirius.

Voldemort's head whipped around at the sound of Dobby's voice. She saw his red eyes narrow and his nostrils dilate, as though all of his senses were attuned to finding Harry's unseen ally, and, thus, his enemy. Both Draco and Hermione skulked around the clearing where Harry stood crouching in the fog. "Shouldn't we help him?"

Even in his agitated state, Draco couldn't fail to recognize the gleam of tears on Harry's face. He suppressed a smile of triumph. "They're not attacking."

Hermione hissed in response, "What d'you think they're there for? Decoration?"

Draco scowled and nudged her. "Look! I can't believe it-" He could barely restrain a gasp, "_Dobby_?"

Hermione saw the House-Elf emerge behind Voldemort, wearing Ron's maroon sweater. She had to admit that it looked better on Dobby than it would have on Ron. Draco, however, was thinking along different lines- Dobby was carrying a cloak and- "That's the Green Flame Torch!" Draco whispered, stunned, "How did Dobby get it?"

"We have to get out there tell him! Tell him what that thing can do!"

Draco took a deep breath. "I…" He wasn't ready to do what Hermione had so incorrectly assumed. His loyalties were thus far divided. He was a traitor to everyone. To declare that he was loyal to Dumbledore's cause to Hermione was all fine and good, but when Voldemort lurked so near- He could be exposed in a lie -what were all of those years that his father had dictated his beliefs? "I'll wait-" He remembered his father, dead, with his first and last smile frozen on his face-

And he might be forced to face the consequences.

Hermione didn't listen and bounded forward, tripping over a jagged group of rocks. He heard the sickening crack. His stomach plummeted.

More barking in the resounded and made his pulse quicken and his ears throb. In the distant confines of the cave, the barking ricocheted and reverberated in circles until it was increased twofold. He eyes were locked on the Hound which slipped in and out of the darkness as though it was a shadow. He would have thought it a shadow, too, if not for the faint tremor that shook the earth with each leap.

_It was so painful. _Tears rolled down Hermione's face in the most reckless fashion, forming a dew-laden web across her countenance. She caught the stubborn pearls in her hand and wiped them, unwanted, away with her hand. _ I don't want Draco to see me cry_. Hermione struggled against her twisted, broken…? at any rate useless leg. "You stupid prat!" she hissed angrily to Malfoy pointing to a shadow that could only be Voldemort. "Take the torch and kill him!"

She watched as Voldemort lazily glided in her direction, wand outstretched. Draco watched with a practiced eye, noting that in her frenzy, her wand movements were undisciplined and wide, taking more space and time at they ought ever to have done. _It was now or never_.

A pale hand darted out of the darkness and grabbed the green torch out of the House-Elf's hand. Draco cursed in pain as his fingers involuntarily curled into a fist. The torch burned. It was a scalding, yet icy-cold feeling that destroyed all feeling within his fingers. He looked at his hands- the flesh was eaten away and exposed raw, vulnerable muscle. He looked up at Hermione; in that moment of danger she knew. He was a Death Eater. He had not gone back on his vows. He was sworn. He was loyal. In fact, the only person he had betrayed was she. "Love keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth." '_Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometime by action dignified.' What shit. Shakespeare, another damn idealist. _She made a mental note to burn all of her novels.

"Harry!" Hermione called, stumbling into the mist.

"Hermione?" He shook her voice out of his head. "Dobby, give me the cloak!" Harry screamed as the hounds bounded closer and closer, inhaling Harry's scent in the night air and finding him quickly despite the dense fog.

Dobby looked at Harry, his bulbous eyes filling with unspilt tears, "Dobby will be brave for Harry Potter," he said resolutely and took a leap at the Hounds, brandishing Harry's cloak and leading them away from the Boy-Who-Lived. "Harry Potter must run!"

__

Draco felt pathetically weak. He was in so much pain as the throbbing in his hand increased in it's life sapping ferocity. As though from a badly tuned radio, Draco registered Hermione's voice, shrieking in concern, "Harry! Don't let him die!" He looked at his hand, at the burn that was spreading from his fingertips. _It kills all evil_. He was dead already.

Harry grabbed the torch from the floor beside Draco. In a blinding flash of green that spread from his fingertips into the torch like an electric current, Harry felt himself rejuvenated. Draco crumpled to the floor and felt himself on a sieve as all the malevolence in him was eaten away. He knew after that there'd be nothing left.

Harry looked around and saw the Hounds dissolve away. He turned to Voldemort. Voldemort was frozen, but the light was weakening and the nearly invisible outline of the Hounds was solidifying as the light ebbed smaller and smaller in a concentrated circle around Harry. _Time was quickly running out._

Voldemort's face was slowly curling into a smile as he gradually regained the use of his body. Hermione hurled a misdirected hex at Voldemort and her useless leg crumpled beneath her. She fell to the floor and Harry knew that the absence of her whimpers meant that she had fainted.

Harry stiffened. He felt through the soles of his own feet, the pounding of paws on the cold stones of the cavern. A Hound was returning, and the light was ever dimming.

Harry barely had time to register a big, black dog and the red eyes that emanated malevolence and- relief. He called, "Si-! " but it was abruptly cut off by a booming bark, that was nonetheless of a different pitch and timbre.

Seeing Voldemort moving stiffly, Sirius skidded in an abrupt U-turn and bounded in his direction. With a shocked cry of, "The Hound!" Voldemort Dissaparated, as Sirius fell to empty air. Sirius had bounded on nothing but air. He quickly turned himself back into a human and ran directly to Hermione and Harry. A whispered charm, and Hermione felt the sensation of invisible strings attaching to her limbs.

"Follow me!" he ordered.

"Harry, you've got to-" she screamed as Sirius bounded away, she gliding behind him, helpless.

Harry was irresolute.

Draco scowled at him, his expression still arrogant, despite his pain. _Damned if he let Harry see him weak_. "Leave me alone Potter!" Harry prepared to move on, but a nagging voice reminiscent of Hermione tugged him back to his weakening enemy. "Love keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth," Draco said as Hermione disappeared into the darkness. He hoped that she wouldn't hear. "I don't need your help!" With a strength that comes from outrageous pride, he remained unmoving, but his shadow cavorted on the walls behind him by the inconsistent mist.

"Suit yourself, Malfoy," Harry spat, feigning indifference, "You're digging your own grave."

Draco answered levelly, "I dug that grave the moment I was born a Malfoy."

"No, you did the moment you supported Vol-"

"Harry! Don't leave him!" Hermione called again, but Harry, too, had vanished into the darkness, and both boys were well out of earshot.

"Run away with your little friend, Mudblood!" He whispered, "Hermione, I won't change for you." His voice echoed in the now empty cavern. "Never." He embraced a part of him that had been repressed these past months. And relished in it. _Really, I love being evil. _The pain surging inside him increased twofold.

"Quit being so overdramatic, Malfoy," Harry snapped giving him a rather rough kick in the ribs. _I always wanted to do that_. "You know you deserved that." Using Draco's wand, Harry spat a healing charm at Malfoy. "You're free. Now get lost. For Hermione's sake."

"Your hero's complex wouldn't let me-"

"To hell with that. It was my goddamn conscience."

"You can tell yourself that. I think its your fucking hero's com-"

"Think whatever you want. Even Hermione didn't want to save your sorry ass."

Draco leaned against the wall of the corridor, his heart slamming against his ribcage almost in an effort to break free. He ran a hand through his pale hair and winced as his head began to throb, an array of thoughts scurrying through his mind before coming to a dead halt.

__

I knew it would only be a matter of time. 

****

A/N: Just to explain some things. Snape was stupefied by Sirius because Dumbledore thought that he betrayed them. So now all those seemingly random things happening in the first couple of chapters are explained (along with the title- you see Cedric's death is a shadows of Harry past, so is the Voldemort scene and a whole lotta other stuff. _It's coming baaack to haaunt hiiim!. _See? All that patience has paid off.


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